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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 


BEQUEST 

OF 

ANITA  D.  S.  BLAKE 


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MR.  BROWN'S   LETTERS 


TO    A 


YOUNG     MAN     ABOUT    TOWN; 


WIT 


THE  PROSER  AND   OTHER  PAPERS. 


BY 

W.   M. THACKERAY, 

AUTHOR  OF  "TANITY  FAIR,"  "  JEAMES'S  DIARY,"  "THE  PRIZE  NOVELIST," 
"  THE  BOOK  OF  SNOBS,"  ETC.   ETC. 


•+•»■ 


NEW  YORK: 
D.  APPLETON  &  COMPANY,  COO  BROADWAY. 


M.DCCQ.LIH. 


CONTENTS. 


MR.     BROWN'S      LETTERS 


TO    A    YOUNG    1TA.N    ABOUT    TOWN. 

Page 

Introductory .  IT 

On  Tailoring— and  Toilettes  in  General       ....  25 

The  Influence  of  Lovely  Woman  upon  Society    ...  33 

Some  more  Words  about  the  Ladies 41 

On  Friendship           ...                ....  49 

Mr.  Brown  the  Elder  takes  Mr.  Brown  the  Younger  to 

a  Club 57 

A  Word  about  Balls  in  Season 80 

A  Word  about  Dinners 90 

On  Some  Old  Customs  of  the  Dinner  Table  ....  99 

Great  and  Little  Dinners 107 

On  Love,  Marriage,  Men,  and  Women                       .        .        .  115 

On  Friendship ...  135 

Out  of  Town    .               .                              142 


THE     PROSER. 


On  a  Lady  in  an  Opera  Box 

On  the  Pleasures  of  being  a  Fogy 

On  the  Benefits  of  being  a  Fogy 


159 
168 
175 


VT11.  CONTENTS. 


MISCELLANIES. 

Page 

Child's  Parties,  and  a  Remonstrance  concerning  them     .  187 

The  Story  of  Koompanee  Jehan 202 

Science  at  Cambridge 211 

A  Dream  of  VVhitefriars 218 

Mr.  Punch's  Address  to  the  Great  City  of  Castlebar      .  228 

Irish  Gems .  234 

The  Charles  the  Second  Ball           241 

The  Georges      ....                347 

Dbath  of  the  Earl  of  Robinson 251 


AUTHOR'S    PREFACE. 


■+•»- 


On  coming  into  this  country  I  found  that  the  projectors  ot 
this  series  of  little  books  had  preceded  my  arrival  by  publishing 
a  number  of  early  works,  which  have  appeared  under  various 
pseudonymes  during  the  last  fifteen  years.  I  was  not  the 
master  to  choose  what  stories  of  mine  should  appear  or  not : 
these  miscellanies  were  all  advertised,  or  in  course  of  publica- 
tion ;  nor  have  I  had  the  good  fortune  to  be  able  to  draw  a 
pen,  or  alter  a  blunder  of  author  or  printer,  except  in  the  case 
of  the  accompanying  volumes,  which  contain  contributions 
to  Punch,  whence  I  have  been  enabled  to  make  something  like 
a  selection.  In  the  "  Letters  of  Mr.  Brown"  and  the  succeed- 
ing short  essays  and  descriptive  pieces,  something  graver  and 
less  burlesque  was  attempted  than  in  other  pieces  which  I  here 
publish.  My  friend,  the  "Fat  Contributor,"  accompanied  Mr. 
Titmarsh  in  his  "Journey  from  Cornhillto  Cairo."  The  Prize 
novels  contain  imitations,  not  malicious  I  hope,  nor  unamus- 
ing,  of  the  writings  of  some  contemporaries  who  still  live  and 
flourish  in  the  novelist's  calling.  I  myself  had  scarcely 
entered  on  it  when  these  burlesque  tales  were  begun,  and 
stopped  further  parody  from  a  sense  that  this  merry  task  of 
making  fun  of  the  novelists  should  be  left  to  younger  hands 
than  my  own ;  and  in  a  little  book  published  some  four  years" 

1* 


author's  preface. 


since,  in  England,  by  my  friends  Messrs.  Hannay  &  Shirley 
Brooks,  I  saw  a  caricature  of  myself  and  writings  to  the  full  as 
ludicrous  and  faithful  as  the  Prize  novels  of  Mr.  Punch.  Nor 
was  there,  had  I  desired  it,  any  possibility  of  preventing  the 
reappearance  of  these  performances.  Other  publishers  besides 
the  Messrs.  Appleton  were  ready  to  bring  my  hidden  works  to 
the  light.  Very  many  of  the  other  books  printed,  I  have  not 
seen  since  their  appearance  twelve  years  ago,  and  it  was  with 
no  small  feelings  of  curiosity  (remembering  under  what  sad  cir- 
cumstances the  tale  had  been  left  unfinished,)  that  I  bought  the 
incomplete  "Shabby  Genteel  Story,"  in  a  railway  car,  on  my 
first  journey  from  Boston  hither,  from  a  rosy-cheeked,  little 
peripatetic  book  merchant,  who  called  out  "  Thackeray's 
Works :" — in  such  a  kind,  gay  voice,  as  gave  me  a  feeling  of 
friendship  and  welcome. 

Here  is  an  opportunity  of  being  either  satiric  or  sentimental. 
The  careless  papers  written  at  an  early  period,  and  never  seen 
since  the  printer's  boy  carried  them  away,  are  brought  back 
and  laid  at  the  father's  door,  and  he  cannot,  if  he  would,  forget 
or  disown  his  own  children. 

Why  were  some  of  the  little  brats  brought  out  of  their 
obscurity?  I  own  to  a  feeling  of  anything  but  pleasure  in 
reviewing  some  of  these  misshapen  juvenile  creatures  which 
the  publisher  has  disinterred  and  resuscitated.  There  are  two 
performances  especially,  (among  the  critical  and  biographical 
works  of  the  erudite  Mr.  Yellow-Plush)  which  I  am  very  sorry 
to  see  reproduced,  and  I  ask  pardon  of  the  author  of  the 
"  Caxtons"  for  a  lampoon,  which  I  know  he  himself  has  for- 
given, and  which  I  wish  I  could  recal. 

I  had  never  seen  that  eminent  writer  but  once  in  public 
when  this  satire  was  penned,  and  wonder  at  the  recklessness  of 
the  young  man  who  could  fancy  such  personality  was  harmless 


author's  preface.  xi 


jocularity,  and  never  calculate  that  it  might  give  pain.  The 
best  experiences  of  my  life  have  been  gained  since  that  time 
of  youth  and  gaiety  and  careless  laughter.  I  allude  to  them, 
perhaps,  because  I  would  not  have  any  kind  and  friendly  Ame- 
rican reader  judge  of  me  by  these  wild  performances  of  early 
years.  Such  a  retrospect  as  the  sight  of  these  old  acquaint- 
ances perforce  occasioned,  cannot,  if  it  would,  be  gay.  The 
old  scenes  return,  the  remembrance  of  the  by-gone  time,  the 
chamber  in  which  the  stories  were  written ;  the  faces  that 
shone  round  the  table.  Some  biographers  in  this  country  have 
been  pleased  to  depict  that  homely  apartment  after  a  very 
strange  and  romant»  fashion ;  and  an  author  in  the  direst 
struggles  of  poverty  waited  upon  by  a  family  domes-tic  in  "  all 
the  splendour  of  his  menial  decorations,"  has  been  circumstan- 
tially described  to  the  reader's  amusement  as  well  as  the 
writer's  own.  I  may  be  permitted  to  assure  the  former  that 
the  splendour  and  the  want  were  alike  fanciful ;  and  that  the 
meals  were  not  only  sufficient,  but  honestly  paid  for. 

That  extreme  liberality  with  which  American  publishers 
have  printed  the  works  of  English  authors,  has  had  at  least 
this  beneficial  result  for  us,  that  our  names  and  writings  are 
known  by  multitudes  using  our  common  mother  tongue,  who 
never  had  heard  of  us  or  our  books  but  for  the  speculators  who 
have  sent  them  all  over  this  continent. 

It  is,  of  course,  not  unnatural  for  the  English  writer  to  hope, 
that  some  day  he  may  share  a  portion  of  the  profits  which  his 
works  bring  at  present  to  the  persons  who  vend  them  in  this 
country ;  and  I  am  bound  gratefully  to  say  myself,  that  since 
my  arrival  here  I  have  met  with  several  publishing  houses 
who  are  willing  to  acknowledge  our  little  claim  to  participate 
in  the  advantages  arising  out  of  our  books ;  and  the  present 
writer  having  long  eince  ascertained  that  a  portion  of  a  loaf  is 


xii  author's  preface. 


more  satisfactory  than  no  bread  at  ah,  gratefully  accepts  and 
acknowledges  several  slices  which  the  book  purveyors  in  this 
city  have  proffered  to  him  of  their  free  will. 

If  we  are  not  paid  in  full  and  in  specie  as  yet,  English 
writers  surely  ought  to  be  thankful  for  the  very  great  kindness 
and  friendliness  with  which  the  American  public  receives 
them  ;  and  if  we  hope  some  day  that  measures  may  pass  here 
to  legalize  our  right  to  profit  a  little  by  the  commodities  which 
we  invent  and  in  which  we  deal,  I  for  one  can  cheerfully  say, 
that  the  good  will  towards  us  from  publishers  and  public  is 
undoubted,  and  wait  for  still  better  times  with  perfect  con- 
fidence and  humour. 

If  I  have  to  complain  of  any  special  hardship,  it  is,  not  that 
our  favourite  works  are  reproduced,  and  our  children  intro- 
duced to  the  American  public :  children,  whom  we  have  edu- 
cated with  care,  and  in  whom  we  take  a  little  paternal  pride : 
but  that  ancient  magazines  are  ransacked,  and  shabby  old 
articles  dragged  out,  which  we  had  gladly  left  in  the  ward- 
robes where  they  have  lain  hidden  many  years.  There  is  no 
control,  however,  over  a  man's  thoughts — once  uttered  and 
printed,  back  they  may  come  upon  us  on  any  sudden  day ;  and 
in  this  collection,  which  Messrs.  Appleton  are  publishing,  I  find 
two  or  three  such  early  productions  of  my  own  that  I  gladly 
would  take  back,  but  that  they  have  long  since  gone  out  of 
the  paternal  guardianship. 

If  not  printed  in  this  series,  they  would  have  appeared  from 
other  presses,  having  not  the  slightest  need  of  the  author's 
own  imprimatur;  and  I  cannot  sufficiently  condole  with  a 
literary  gentleman  of  this  city,  who  (in  his  voyages  of  profes- 
sional adventure)  came  upon  an  early  performance  of  mine, 
which  shall  be  nameless,  carried  the  news  of  the  discovery 
to  a  publisher  of  books,  and  had  actually  done  me  the  favour  to 


author's  preface.  xiii 


eell  my  book  to  that  liberal  man,  when,  behold,  Messrs.  Apple- 
ton  announced  the  book  in  the  press,  and  my  confrere  had  t« 
refund  the  prize-money  which  had  been  paid  him.  And  if  he 
is  a  little  chagrined  at  finding  other  intrepid  voyagers  before- 
hand with  him  in  taking  possession  of  my  island,  and  the 
American  flag  already  floating  there,  he  will  understand  the 
feelings  of  the  harmless  but  kindly  treated  aboriginal  native, 
who  makes  every  sign  of  peace,  who  smokes  the  pipe  of  sub- 
mission, and  meekly  acquiesces  in  his  own  annexation. 

It  is  said  that  those  only  who  win  should  laugh ;  I  think,  in 
this  case,  my  readers  will  not  grudge  the  losing  side  its  share 
of  harmless  good  humour:  if  I  have  contributed  to  theirs,  or 
provided  them  with  means  of  amusement,  I  am  glad  to  think 
my  books  have  found  favour  with  the  American  public,  as  I 
am  proud  to  own  the  great  and  cordial  welcome  with  which 
they  have  received  me. 

"W.  M.  Th  acker  at. 
New  York,  December,  1852. 


MR.    BROWN'S   LETTERS. 


MR.  BROWN'S  LETTERS 


TO    A 


YOUNG  MAN  ABOUT   TOWN. 


■♦•» 


It  is  with  the  greatest  satisfaction,  my  dear  Robert,  that 
I  have  you  as  a  neighbour,  within  a  couple  of  miles  of 
me,  and  that  I  have  seen  you  established  comfortably  in 
your  chambers  in  Fig-Tree  Court.  The  situation  is  not 
cheerful,  it  is  true ;  and  to  clamber  *4fr  three  pairs  of 
black  creaking  stairs,  is  an  exercise  not  pleasant  to  a 
man  who  never  cared  for  ascending  mountains.  Nor 
did  the  performance  of  the  young  barrister  who  lives 
under  you — and,  it  appears,  plays  pretty  constantly  upon 
the  French  horn — give  me  any  great  pleasure,  as  I  sate 
and  partook  of  luncheon  in  your  rooms.  Your  female 
attendant  or  laundress,  too,  struck  me  from  her  personal 
appearance  to  be  a  lady  addicted  to  the  use  of  ardent 
spirits ;  and  the  smell  of  tobacco,  which  you  say  some 
old  college  friends  of  yours  had  partaken  of  the  night 


lb  MR.    BROWNS    LETTERS 

previous,  was,  I  must  say,  not  pleasant  in  the  chambers, 
and  I  even  thought  might  be  remarked  as  lingering  in 
your  own  morning-coat.  However,  I  am  an  old  fellow. 
The  use  of  cigars  has  come  in  since  my  time  (and,  I 
must  own,  is  adopted  by  many  people  of  the  first 
fashion),  and  these  and  other  inconveniences  are  sur- 
mounted more  gaily  by  young  fellows  like  yourself,  than 
by  oldsters  of  my  standing.  It  pleased  me,  however,  to 
see  the  picture  of  the  old  house  at  home  over  the  man- 
tel-piece. Your  college-prize  books  make  a  very  good 
show  in  your  book-cases  ;  and  I  was  glad  to  remark  in 
the  looking-glass  the  cards  of  both  our  excellent  County 
members.  The  rooms,  altogether,  have  a  reputable 
appearance  ;  and  I  hope,  my  dear  fellow,  that  the  Soci- 
ety of  the  Inner  Temple  will  have  a  punctual  tenant. 

As  you  have  now  completed  your  academical  studies, 
and  are  about  to  commence  your  career  in  London,  I 
propose,  my  dear  Nephew,  to  give  you  a  few  hints  for 
your  guidance  ;  Avhich,  although  you  have  an  undoubt- 
ed genius  of  your  own,  yet  come  from  a  person  who  has 
had  considerable  personal  experience,  and  I  have  no 
doubt  would  be  useful  to  you  if  you  did  not  disregard 
them,  as,  indeed,  you  will  most  probably  do. 

With  your  law  studies  it  is  not  my  duty  to  meddle. 
I  have  seen  you  established,  one  of  six  pupils  in  Mr. 
Tapeworm's  Chambers  in  Pump  Court,  seated  on  a 
high-legged  stool  on  a  foggy  day,  with  your  back  to  a 
blazing  fire.     At  your  father's  desire,  I  have  paid  a  him- 


TO  A  YOUNG  MAX  ABOUT  TOWN.  19 


dred  guineas  to  that  eminent  special  pleader,  for  the 
advantages  which  1  have  no  doubt  you  will  enjoy  while 
seated  on  the  high-legged  stool  in  his  back  room,  and 
rest  contented  with  your  mother's  prediction  that  you 
will  be  Lord  Chief  Justice  some  day.  May  you  pros- 
per, my  dear  fellow  !  is  all  I  desire.  By  the  way,  I 
should  like  to  know  what  was  the  meaning  of  a  pot  of 
porter  which  entered  into  your  chambers  as  I  issued 
from  them  at  one  o'clock,  and  trust  that  it  was  not  your 
thirst  which  was  to  be  quenched  with  such  a  beverage 
at  such  an  hour. 

It  is  not,  then,  with  regard  to  your  duties  as  a  law- 
student  that  I  have  a  desire  to  lecture  you,  but  in  respect 
of  your  pleasures,  amusements,  acquaintances,  and  gene- 
ral conduct  and  bearing  as  a  young  man  of  the  world. 

I  will  rush  into  the  subject  at  once,  and  exemplify 
my  morality  in  your  own  person.  Why,  Sir,  for  in- 
stance, do  you  wear  that  tuft  to  your  chin,  and  those 
sham  turquoise  buttons  to  your  waistcoat  ?  A  chin- 
tuft  is  a  cheap  enjoyment  certainly,  and  the  twiddling  it 
about,  as  I  see  you  do  constantly,  so  as  to  show  your 
lower  teeth,  a  harmless  amusement  to  fill  up  your  va- 
cuous hours.  And  as  for  waistcoat-buttons,  you  will 
sav,  "  Do  not  all  the  young  men  wear  them,  and  what 
can  I  do  but  buy  artificial  turquoise,  as  I  cannot  afford  to 
buy  real  stones  ?" 

I  take  you  up  at  once  and  show  ou  why  you  ought 
to  shave  off  your  tip  and  give  up  the  factitious  jewellery 


20  MR.    BROWNS    LETTERS 


My  dear  Bob,  in  spite  of  us  and  all  the  Republicans  in 
the  world,  there  are  ranks  and  degrees  in  life  and  soci- 
ety, and  distinctions  to  be  maintained  by  each  man  ac- 
cording to  his  rank  and  degree.  You  have  no  more 
right,  as  I  take  it,  to  sport  an  imperial  on  your  chin 
than  I  have  to  wear  a  shovel-hat  with  a  rosette.  I  hold 
a  tuft  to  a  man's  chin  to  be  the  centre  of  a  system,  so 
to  speak,  which  ought  all  to  correspond  and  be  harmo- 
nious— the  whole  tune  of  a  man's  life  ought  to  be  play- 
ed in  that  key. 

Look,  for  instance,  at  Lord  Hugo  Fitzurse  seated  in 
the  private  box  at  the  Lyceum,  by  the  side  of  that  beau- 
tiful creature  with  the  black  eyes  and  the  magnificent 
point-lace,  who  you  fancied  was  ogling  you  through  her 
enormous  spy-glasses.  Lord  Hugo  has  a  tuft  to  his 
chin  certainly,  his  countenance  grins  with,  a  perfect  va- 
cuity behind  it,  and  his  whiskers  curl  crisply  round  one 
of  the  handsomest  and  stupidest  countenances  in  the 
world. 

But  just  reckon  up  in  your  own  mind  what  it  costs 
him  to  keep  up  that  simple  ornament  on  his  chin. 
Look  at  every  article  of  that  amiable  and  most  gentle- 
man-like— though,  I  own,  foolish — young  man's  dress, 
and  see  how  absurd  it  is  of  you  to  attempt  to  imitate 
him.  Look  at  his  hands  (I  have  the  young  nobleman 
perfectly  before  my  mind's  eye  now) ;  the  little  hands 
are  dangling  over  the  cushion  of  the  box,  gloved  as 
tightly  and  delicately  as  a  lady's.     His  wristbands  are 


TO    A   YOUNG    MAN    ABOUT    TOWN.  21 

fastened  up  towards  his  elbows  with  jewellery.  Gems 
and  rubies  meander  down  his  pink  shirt-front  and  waist- 
coat. He  wears  a  watch  with  an  apparatus  of  gim- 
cracks,  at  his  waistcoat-pocket.  He  sits  in  a  splendid 
side  box,  or  he  simpers  out  of  the  windows  at  White's, 
or  you  see  him  grinning  out  of  a  cab  by  the  Serpentine 
— a  lovely  and  costly  picture,  surrounded  by  a  costly 
frame. 

Whereas  you  and  I,  my  good  Bob,  if  we  want  to  see 
a  play,  do  not  disdain  an  order  from  our  friend  the 
Newspaper  Editor,  or  to  take  a  seat  in  the  pit.  Your 
watch  is  your  father's  old  hunting-watch.  When  we  go 
in  the  Park  we  go  on  foot,  or  at  best  get  a  horse  up 
after  Easter,  and  just  show  in  Rotten  Kow.  We  shall 
never  look  out  of  White's  bow-window.  The  amount 
of  Lord  Hugo's  tailor's-bill  would  support  you  and 
your  younger  brother.  His  valet  has  as  good  an  allow- 
ance as  you,  besides  his  perquisites  of  old  clothes.  You 
cannot  afford  to  wear  a  dandy  Lord's  cast  off  old  clothes, 
neither  to  imitate  those  which  he  wears. 

There  is  nothing  disagreeable  to  me  in  the  notion  of 
a  dandy  any  more  than  there  is  in  the  idea  of  a  pea- 
cock, or  a  cameleopard,  or  a  prodigious  gaudy  tulip,  or 
an  astonishingly  bright  brocade.  There  are  all  sorts  of 
animals,  plants,  and  stuffs  in  Nature,  from  peacocks  to 
tom-tits,  and  from  cloth  of  gold  to  corduroy,  whereof 
the  variety  is  assuredly  intended  by  Nature,  and  certain- 
ly adds  to  the  zest  of  life.     Therefore  I  do  not  say  that 


22  mr.  brown's  letters 

Lord  Hugo  is  a  useless  being,  or  bestow  the  least  con- 
tempt upon  him.  Nay,  it  is  right  gratifying  and  natu- 
ral that  he  should  be,  and  be  as  he  is — handsome  and 
graceful,  splendid  and  perfumed,  beautiful — whiskered 
and  empty-headed,  a  sumptuous  dandy,  and  man  of 
fashion — and  what  you  young  men  have  denominated 
"  A  Swell." 

But  a  cheap  Swell,  my  dear  Robert  (and  that  little 
chin-ornament,  as  well  as  certain  other  indications 
which  I  have  remarked  in  your  simple  nature,  lead  me 
to  insist  upon  this  matter  rather  strongly  with  you),  is 
by  no  means  a  pleasing  object  for  our  observation, 
although  he  is  presented  to  us  so  frequently.  Try,  my 
boy,  and  curb  any  little  propensity  which  you  may  have 
to  dresses  that  are  too  splendid  for  your  station.  You 
do  not  want  light  kid  gloves  and  wristbands  up  to  your 
elbows,  copying  out  Mr.  Tapeworm's  Pleas  and  Declara- 
tions :  you  will  only  blot  them  with  lawyer's  ink  over 
your  desk,  and  they  will  impede  your  writing  :  whereas 
Lord  Hugo  may  decorate  his  hands  in  any  way  he 
likes,  because  he  has  little  else  to  do  with  them,  but  to 
drive  cabs,  or  applaud  dancing-girls'  pirouettes,  or  to 
handle  a  knife  and  fork  or  a  toothpick  as  becomes  the 
position  in  life  which  he  fills  in  so  distinguished  a  man- 
ner. To  be  sure,  since  the  days  of  friend  ^Esop,  Jack- 
daws have  been  held  up  to  ridicule  for  wearing  the 
plumes  of  birds  to  whom  Nature  has  affixed  more  gaudy 
tails ;  but  as  Folly  is  constantly  reproducing  itself,  so 


TO    A    YOUNG    MAN    ABOUT    TOWN.  23 

must  Satire,  and  our  honest  Mr.  Punch  lias  but  to 
repeat  to  the  men  of  our  generation,  the  lessons  taught 
by  the  good-natured  Hunch-back,  his  predecessor. 

Shave  off  your  tuft  then,  my  boy,  and  send  it  to  the 
girl  of  your  heart  as  a  token,  if  you  like:  and  I  pray 
you  abolish  the  jewellery,  towards  which  I  clearly  see 
you  have  a  propensity.  As  you  have  a  plain  dinner  at 
home,  served  comfortably  on  a  clean  table-cloth,  and 
not  a  grand  service  of  half-a-dozen  entrees,  such  as  we 
get  at  our  County  Member's  (and  an  uncommonly  good 
dinner  it  is  too),  so  let  your  dress  be  perfectly  neat, 
polite,  and  cleanly,  without  any  attempts  at  splendour. 
Magnificence  is  the  decency  of  the  rich — but  it  cannot 
be  purchased  with  half  a  guinea  a  day,  which,  when  the 
rent  of  your  chambers  is  paid,  I  take  to  be  pretty  nearly 
the  amount  of  your  worship's  income.  This  point,  I 
thought,  was  rather  well  illustrated  the  other  day,  in  an 
otherwise  silly  and  sentimental  book  which  I  looked 
over  at  the  club,  called  the  Foggarty  Diamond  (or  by 
some  such  vulgar  name).  Somebody  gives  the  hero, 
who  is  a  poor  fellow,  a  diamond  pin :  he  is  obliged  to 
buy  a  new  stock  to  set  off  the  diamond,  then  a  new 
waistcoat,  to  correspond  with  the  stock,  then  a  new 
coat,  because  the  old  one  is  too  shabby  for  the  rest 
of  his  attire : — finally,  the  poor  devil  is  ruined  by  the 
diamond  ornament,  which  he  is  forced  to  sell,  as  I  would 
recommend  you  to  sell  your  waistcoat  studs,  were  they 
worth  anything. 


24  mr.  brown's  letters. 


But  as  you  have  a  good  figure  and  a  gentleman-like 
deportment,  and  as  every  young  man  likes  to  be  well 
attired,  and  ought,  for  the  sake  of  his  own  advantage 
and  progress  in  life,  to  show  himself  to  the  best  advan- 
tage, I  shall  take  an  early  opportunity  of  addressing  you 
on  the  subject  of  tailors  and  clothes,  which,  at  least, 
merit  a  letter  to  themselves. 


ON    TAILORING AND    TOILETTES    IN    GENERAL.       25 


ON  TAILORING— AND  TOILETTES  IN 
GENERAL. 


Our  ancestors,  my  dear  Bob,  have  transmitted  to  you, 
in  common  with  every  member  of  our  family,  consi- 
derable charms  of  person  and  figure,  of  which  fact 
although  you  are  of  course  perfectly  aware,  yet,  and 
equally  of  course,  you  have  no  objection  to  be  reminded; 
and  with  these  facial  and  corporeal  endowments,  a  few 
words  respecting  dress  and  tailoring  may  not  be  out  of 
place ;  for  nothing  is  trivial  in  life,  and  everything  to 
the  philosopher  has  a  meaning.  As  in  the  old  joke 
about  a  pudding  which  has  two  sides,  namely  an  inside 
and  an  outside,  so  a  coat  or  a  hat  has  its  inside  as  well 
as  its  outside ;  I  mean,  that  there  is  in  a  man's  exterior 
appearance  the  consequence  of  his  inward  ways  of 
thought,  and  a  gentleman  who  dresses  too  grandly,  or 
too  absurdly,  or  too  shabbily,  has  some  oddity,  or  insa- 
nity, or  meanness  in  his  mind,  which  developes  itself 
somehow  outwardly  in  the  fashion  of  his  garments. 

No  man  has  a  right  to  despise  his  dress  in  this  world. 
There  is  no  use  in  flinging  any  honest  chance  whatever, 

2 


26  mr.  brown's  letters. 


away.  For  instance,  although  a  woman  cannot  be 
expected  to  know  the  particulars  of  a  gentleman's  dress, 
any  more  than  we  to  be  acquainted  with  the  precise 
nomenclature,  or  proper  cut  of  the  various  articles  which 
those  dear  creatures  wear  ;  yet  to  what  lady  in  a  society 
of  strangers  do  we  feel  ourselves  most  naturally  inclined 
to  address  ourselves? — to  her  or  those  whose  appear- 
ance pleases  us ;  not  to  the  gaudy,  over-dressed  Dowa- 
ger or  Miss  : — nor  to  her  whose  clothes,  though  hand- 
some, are  put  on  in  a  slatternly  manner,  but  to  the 
person  who  looks  neat,  and  trim,  and  elegant,  and  in 
whose  person  we  fancy  we  see  exhibited  indications  of 
a  natural  taste,  order,  and  propriety.  If  Miss  Smith  in 
a  rumpled  gown,  offends  our  eyesight,  though  wre  hear 
she  is  a  young  lady  of  great  genius  and  considerable 
fortune,  while  Miss  Jones  in  her  trim  and  simple  attire 
attracts  our  admiration  ;  so  must  women,  on  their  side, 
be  attracted  or  repelled  by  the  appearance  of  gentlemen 
into  whose  company  they  fall.  If  you  are  a  tiger  in 
appearance,  you  may  naturally  expect  to  frighten  a  deli- 
cate and  timid  female ;  if  you  are  a  sloven,  to  offend 
her :  and  as  to  be  well  Avith  women,  constitutes  one  of 
the  chiefest  happinesses  of  life  ;  the  object  of  my  worthy 
Bob's  special  attention  will  naturally  be,  to  neglect  no 
precautions  to  win  their  favour. 

Yes :  a  good  face,  a  good  address,  a  good  dress,  are 
each  so  many  points  in  the  game  of  life,  of  Avhich  every 
man  of  sense  will  avail  himself.     They  help  many  a  man 


ON    TAILORING AND    TOILETTES    IN     GENERAL.       27 

more  in  his  commerce  with  society  than  learning  or 
genius.  It  is  hard  often  to  bring  the  former  into  a 
drawing-room  :  it  is  often  too  lumbering  and  unwieldy 
for  anv  den  but  its  own.  And  as  a  King  Charles's 
spaniel  can  snooze  before  the  fire,  or  frisk  over  the  otto- 
man-cushions and  on  to  the  ladies'  laps,  when  a  Royal 
elephant  would  find  a  considerable  difficulty  in  walking 
up  the  stairs,  and  subsequently  in  finding  a  seat ;  so  a 
good  manner  and  appearance  will  introduce  you  into 
many  a  house,  where  you  might  knock  in  vain  for  ad- 
mission, with  all  the  learning  of  Porson  in  your  trunk. 
It  is  not  learning,  it  is  not  virtue,  about  which  people 
inquire  in  society.  It  is  manners.  It  no  more  profits 
me  that  my  neighbour  at  table  can  construe  Sanscrit 
and  say  the  Encyclopaedia  by  heart,  than  that  he  should 
possess  half  a  million  in  the  Bank  (unless,  indeed,  he 
gives  dinners ;  when,  for  reasons  obvious,  one's  estima- 
tion of  him,  or  one's  desire  to  please  him,  takes  its  rise 
in  different  sources),  or  that  the  lady  whom  I  hand  down 
to  dinner,  should  be  as  virtuous  as  Cornelia  or  the  late 
Mrs.  Hannah  More.  What  is  wanted  for  the  nonce  is, 
that  folks  should  be  as  agreeable  as  possible  in  conver- 
sation and  demeanour ;  so  that  good  humour  may  be 
said  to  be  one  of  the  very  best  articles  of  dress  one  can 
wear  in  society;  the  which  to  see  exhibited  in  Lady 
X's  honest  face,  let  us  say,  is  more  pleasant  to  behold 
in  a  room,  than  the  glitter  of  Lady  Z's  best  diamonds. 
And  yet,  in  point  of  virtue,  the  latter  is,  no  doubt,  a 


28  mr.  brown's  letters. 

perfect  dragon.  But  virtue  is  a  home  quality :  man- 
ners are  the  coat  it  wears  when  it  goes  abroad. 

Thus,  then,  my  beloved  Bob,  I  would  have  your 
dining-out  suit  handsome,  neat,  well  made,  fitting  you 
naturally  and  easily,  and  yet  with  a  certain  air  of  holi- 
day about  it,  which  should  mark  its  destination.  It  is 
not  because  they  thought  their  appearance  was  much 
improved  by  the  ornament,  that  the  ancient  philoso- 
phers and  topers  decorated  their  old  pates  with  flowers 
(no  wreath  I  know,  would  make  some  people's  mugs 
beautiful ;  and  I  confess,  for  my  part,  I  would  as  lief 
wear  a  horse-collar  or  a  cotton  night-cap  in  society,  as 
a  coronet  of  polyanthuses  or  a  garland  of  hyacinths) : — 
it  is  not  because  a  philosopher  cares  about  dress  that  he 
wears  it ;  but  he  wears  his  best  as  the  sign  of  a  feast,  as 
a  bush  is  the  sign  of  an  inn.  You  ought  to  mark  a 
festival  as  a  red-letter  day,  and  you  put  on  your  broad 
and  spotless  white  waistcoat,  your  finest  linen,  your 
shiniest  boots,  as  much  as  to  say  "  It  is  a  feast ;  here  I 
am,  clean,  smart,  ready  with  a  good  appetite,  deter- 
mined to  enjoy." 

You  would  not  enjoy  a  feast  if  you  came  to  it  un- 
shorn, in  a  draggle-tailed  dressing  gown.  You  ought 
to  be  well  dressed,  and  suitable  to  it.  A  very  odd  and 
wise  man  whom  I  once  knew,  and  who  had  not  (as  far 
as  one  could  outwardly  judge)  the  least  vanity  about 
his  personal  appearance,  used,  I  remember,  to  make  a 
point  of  wearing  in  large  Assemblies  a  most  splendid 


ON    TAILORING AND    TOILETTES    IN    GENERAL.       29 

gold  or   crimson   waistcoat.     He   seemed  to  consider 
himself  in  the  light  of  a  walking  bouquet  of  flowers,  or 
a  moveable  chandelier.     His  waistcoat  was  a  piece  of 
furniture  to  decorate  the  rooms :    as  for  any  personal 
pride  he  took  in  the  adornment,  he  had  none :  for  the 
matter  of  that,  he  would  have  taken  the  garment  off, 
and  lent  it  to  a  waiter — but  this  Philosopher's  maxim 
was,  that  dress  should  be  handsome  upon  handsome 
occasions — and  I  hope  you  will  exhibit  your  own  taste 
upon  such.     You  don't  suppose  that  people  who  enter- 
tain you  so  hospitably  have  four-and-twenty  lights  in 
the  dining-room,  and  still  and  dry  champagne   every 
day  ? — or   that   my   friend,    Mrs.    Perkins,    puts   her 
drawing-room  door  under  her  bed  every  night,  when 
there  is  no  ball  ?     A  young  fellow  must  dress  himself, 
as  the  host  and  hostess  dress  themselves,  in  an  extra 
manner  for  extra  nights.     Enjoy,  my  boy,  in  honesty 
and  manliness,  the  goods  of  this  life.     I  would  no  more 
have  you  refuse  to  take  your  glass  of  wine,  or  to  admire 
(always  in  honesty)  a  pretty  girl,  than  dislike  the  smell 
of  a  rose,  or  turn  away  your  eyes  from  a  landscape. 
"  Neque    tu   choreas   sperne,  puer"    as    the    dear    old 
Heathen  says  :  and,  in  order  to  dance,  you  must  have 
proper  pumps  willing  to  spring  and  whirl  lightly,  and 
a  clean  pair  of  gloves,  with  which  you  can  take  your 
partner's  pretty  little  hand. 

As  for  particularising  your  dress,  that  were  a  task 
quite  absurd  and  impertinent,  considering  that  you  are 


30  mr.  brown's  letters. 

to  wear  it,  and  not  I,  and  remembering  the  variations 
of  fashion.  When  I  was  presented  to  H.  R.  H.  the 
Prince  Regent,  in  the  uniform  of  the  Hammersmith 
Hussars,  viz.,  a  yellow  jacket,  pink  pantaloons  and  sil- 
ver lace,  green  morocco  boots,  and  a  light  blue  pelisse 
lined  with  ermine,  the  august  Prince  himself,  the  model 
of  grace  and  elegance  in  his  time,  wore  a  coat  of  which 
the  waist-buttons  were  placed  between  his  Royal  shoul- 
der-blades, and  which,  if  worn  by  a  man  now,  would 
cause  the  boys  to  hoot  him  in  Pall  Mall,  and  be  a  uni- 
form for  Bedlam.  If  buttons  continue  their  present 
downward  progress,  a  man's  waist  may  fall  down  to  his 
heels  next  year,  or  work  upwards  to  the  nape  of  his 
neck  after  another  revolution :  who  knows  ?  Be  it 
yours  decently  to  conform  to  the  custom,  and  leave 
your  buttons  in  the  hands  of  a  good  tailor,  who  will 
place  them  wherever  fashion  ordains.  A  few  general 
rules,  however,  may  be  gently  hinted  to  a  young  fellow 
who  has  perhaps  a  propensity  to  fall  into  certain  errors. 
Eschew  violent  sporting-dresses,  such  as  one  sees  but 
too  often  in  the  parks  and  public  places  on  the  backs  of 
misguided  young  men.  There  is  no  objection  to  an 
ostler  wearing  a  particular  costume,  but  it  is  a  pity  that 
a  gentleman  should  imitate  it.  I  have  seen  in  like 
manner  young  fellows  at  Cowes  attired  like  the  pictures 
we  have  of  smugglers,  buccaneers,  and  mariners  in 
Adelphi  melodramas.  I  would  like  my  Bob  to  remember, 
that  his  business  in  life  is  neither  to  handle  a  curry-comb 


ON    TAILORING AND    TOILETTES    IN    GENERAL.       31 

nor  a  marline-spike,  and  to  fashion  his  habit  accord- 
ingly. 

If  your  hair  or  clothes  do  not  smell  of  tobacco,  as 
they  sometimes  it  must  be  confessed  do,  you  will  not 
be  less  popular  among  ladies.  And  as  no  man  is  worth 
a  fig,  or  can  have  real  benevolence  of  character,  or 
observe  mankind  properly,  who  does  not  like  the  society 
of  modest  and  well-bred  women ;  respect  their  preju- 
dices in  this  matter,  and  if  you  must  smoke,  smoke  in 
an  old  coat,  and  away  from  the  ladies. 

Avoid  dressing-gowns ;  which  argue  dawdling,  an 
unshorn  chin,  a  lax  toilet,  and  a  general  lazy  and  indo- 
lent habit  at  home.  Begin  your  day  with  a  clean 
conscience  in  every  way.  Cleanliness  is  honesty.*  A 
man  Who  shows  but  a  clean  face  and  hands  is  a  rogue 
and  hypocrite  in  society,  and  takes  credit  for  a  virtue 
which  he  does  not  possess.  And  of  all  the  advances 
towards  civilization  which  our  nation  has  made,  and  of 
most  of  which  Mr.  Macaulay  treats  so  eloquently  in 
his  lately  published  History,  as  in  his  lecture  to  the 
Glasgow  Students  the  other  day,  there  is  none  which 
ought  to  give  a  philanthropist  more  pleasure,  than  to 
remaik  the  great  and  increasing  demand  for  bath-tubs 


*  Note  to  the  beloved  Reader. — This  hint,  dear  Sir,  is  of  course  not  intended 
to  apply  personally  to  you,  who  are  scrupulously  neat  in  your  person  ;  but 
when  you  look  around  _vou  and  see  how  many  people  neglect  the  use  of  that 
admirable  cosmetic,  cold  water,  you  will  see  that  a  few  words  in  its  praise 
may  be  spoken  with  advantage. 


32  mr.  brown's  letters. 

at  the  ironmongers ;   Zinc-Institutions,    of  which    our 
ancestors  had  a  lamentable  ignorance. 

And  I  hope  that  these  institutions  will  be  universal 
in  our  country  before  long,  and  that  every  decent  man 
n  England  will  be  a  Companion  of  the  Most  Honour- 
able order  of  the  Bath. 


INFLUENCE    OF    LOVELY    WOMAN.  33 


THE  INFLUENCE  OF  LOVELY  WOMAN   UPON 

SOCIETY. 


Constantly,  my  dear  Bob,  I  have  told  you  how  refin- 
ing is  the  influence  of  women  upon  society,  and  how 
profound  our  respect  ought  to  be  for  them.  Living  in 
chambers  as  you  do,  my  dear  Nephew,  and  not  of 
course  liable  to  be  amused  by  the  constant  society  of 
an  old  Uncle,  who  moreover  might  be  deucedly  bored 
with  your  own  conversation — I  beseech  and  implore  you 
to  make  a  point  of  being  intimate  with  one  or  two 
families  where  you  can  see  kind  and  well-bred  English 
ladies.  I  have  seen  women  of  all  nations  in  the  world, 
but  I  never  saw  the  equals  of  English  women  (meaning 
of  course  to  include  our  cousins  the  MacWhirters  of 
Glasgow,  and  the  O'Tooles  of  Cork) :  and  I  pray  sin- 
cerely, my  boy,  that  you  may  always  have  a  woman  for 
a  friend. 

Try,  then,  and  make  yourself  the  bienvenu  in  some 
house  where  accomplished  and  amiable  ladies  are.  Pass 
as  much  of  your  time  as  you  can  with  them.  Lose  no 
opportunity   of  making   yourself  agreeable   to   them  • 

2* 


34  mr.  brown's  letters. 

-  ■  .  —        .-  — ■—    ■  .,  ■  ■  ■    .         -i       ..—■—..       .         ■  ■    ■      ■ ■    -     —™  \—»    —-K     -        '■'    — 

run  their  errands ;  send  them  flowers  and  elegant  little 
tokens ;  show  a  willingness  to  be  pleased  by  their  at- 
tentions, and  to  aid  their  little  charming  schemes  of 
shopping,  or  dancing,  or  this,  or  that.  I  say  to  you, 
make  yourself  a  lady's  man  as  much  as  ever  you  can. 

It  is  better  for  you  to  pass  an  evening  once  or  twice 
a  week  in  a  lady's  drawing-room,  even  though  the  con- 
versation is  rather  slow  and  you  know  the  girls'  songs 
by  heart,  than  in  a  club,  tavern,  or  smoking-room,  or 
pit  of  a  theatre.  All  amusements  of  youth,  to  which 
virtuous  women  are  not  admitted,  are,  rely  on  it,  dele- 
terious in  their  nature.  All  men  who  avoid  female  so- 
ciety, have  dull  perceptions  and  are  stupid,  or  have  gross 
tastes  and  revolt  against  what  is  pure.  Your  Club- 
swaggerers  who  are  sucking  the  butts  of  billiard-cues 
all  night  call  female  society  insipid.  Sir,  poetry  is  in- 
sipid to  a  yokel ;  beauty  has  no  charms  for  a  blind 
man  :  music  does  not  please  an  unfortunate  brute-  who 
does  not  know  one  tune  from  another — -and,  as  a  true 
epicure  is  hardly  ever  tired  of  water-souchy  and  brown 
bread  and  butter,  I  protest  I  can  sit  for  a  whole  night 
talking  to  a  well-regulated  kindly  woman  about  her 
girl  coming  out,  or  her  boy  at  Eton,  and  like  the  even- 
ing's entertainment. 

One  of  the  great  benefits  a  young  man*  may  derive 
from  women's  society  is,  that  he  is  bound  to  be  respectfuJ 
to  them.  The  habit  is  of  great  good  to  your  moral 
man,  depend  on  it.      Our  education  makes  of  us  the 


INFLUENCE    OF    LOVELY    WOMAN.  35 

most  eminently  selfish  men  in  the  world.  We  fight  for 
ourselves,  we  push  for  ourselves ;  we  cut  the  best  slices 
out  of  the  joint  at  club-dinners  for  ourselves ;  we  yawn 
foi  ourselves  and  light  our  pipes,  and  say  we  won't  go 
out :  we  prefer  ourselves  and  our  ease — and  the  greatest 
good  that  comes  to  a  man  from  woman's  society  is,  that 
he  has  to  think  of  somebody  besides  himself — somebody 
to  whom  he  is  bound  to  be  constantly  attentive  and 
respectful.  Certainly  I  don't  want  my  dear  Bob  to  as- 
sociate with  those  of  the  other  sex  whom  he  doesn't  and 
can't  respect :  that  is  worse  than  billiards :  worse  than 
tavern  brandy-and-water :  worse  than  smoking  selfish- 
ness at  home.  But  I  vow  I  would  rather  see  you  turn- 
ing over  the  leaves  of  Miss  Fiddlecombe's  music-book 
all  night,  than  at  billiards,  or  smoking,  or  brandy-and- 
water,  or  all  three. 

Remember,  if  a  house  is  pleasant,  and  you  like  to  re- 
main in  it,  that  to  be  well  with  the  women  of  the  house 
is  the  great,  the  vital  point.  If  it  is  a  good  house,  don't 
turn  up  your  nose  because  you  are  only  asked  to  come 
in  the  evening  while  others  are  invited  to  dine.  Recol- 
lect  the  debts  of  dinners  which  an  hospitable  family  has 
to  pay ;  who  are  you  that  you  should  always  be  expect- 
ing to  nestle  under  the  mahogany  ?  Agreeable  ac- 
quaintances are  made  just  as  well  in  the  drawing-room 
as  in  the  dining-room.  Go  to  tea  brisk  and  good-hu- 
moured. Be  determined  to  be  pleased.  Talk  to  a 
dowager.     Take  a  hand  at  whist.     If  you  are  musical, 


36  mr.  brown's  letters. 

and  know  a  song,  sing  it  like  a  man.  Never  sulk  about 
dancing,  but  off  with  you.  You  will  find  your  acquaint- 
ance enlarge.  Mothers,  pleased  with  your  good  humour, 
will  probably  ask  you  to  Pocklington  Square,  to  a  little 
party.  You  will  get  on — you  will  form  yourself  a  circle. 
You  may  marry  a  rich  girl,  or,  at  any  rate,  get  the  chance 
of  seeing  a  number  of  the  kind,  and  the  pretty. 

Many  young  men,  who  are  more  remarkable  for  their 
impudence  and  selfishness  than  their  good  sense,  are 
fond  of  boastfully  announcing  that  they  decline  going  to 
evening  parties  at  all,  unless,  indeed,  such  entertainments 
commence  with  a  good  dinner,  and  a  quantity  of  claret. 

I  never  saw  my  beautiful  minded  friend,  Mrs.  Y.  Z., 
many  times  out  of  temper,  but  can  quite  pardon  her 
indignation,  when  young  Fred.  Noodle,  to  whom  the 
Y.  Z.'s  have  been  very  kind,  and  who  has  appeared 
scores  of  times  at  their  elegant  table  in  Up-r  B-k-r 
Street,  announced,  in  an  unlucky  moment  of  flippancy, 
that  he  did  not  intend  to  go  to  evening  parties  any 
more. 

What  induced  Fred.  Noodle  to  utter  this  bravado  I 
know  not ;  whether  it  was  that  he  has  been  puffed  up 
by  attentions  from  several  Aldermen's  families,  with 
whom  he  has  of  late  become  acquainted,  and  among 
whom  he  gives  himself  the  airs  of  a  prodigious  "  swell ;" 
but  having  made  this  speech  one  Sunday  after  Church, 
when  he  condescended  to  call  in  B-k-r  Street,  and  show 
off  his  new  gloves  and  waistcoat,  and  talked  in  a  suffi 


INFLUENCE    OF    LOVELY    WOMAN.  37 

ciently  dandified  air  about  the  opera  (the  wretched  crea- 
ture fancies  that  an  eight-and-sixpenny  pit  ticket  gives 
him  the  privileges  of  a  man  of  fashion) — Noodle  made 
his  bow  to  the  ladies,  and  strutted  off  to  show  his  new 
yellow  kids  elsewhere. 

"  Matilda,  my  love,  bring  the  Address  Book,"  Mrs. 
Y.  Z.  said  to  her  lovely  eldest  daughter,  as  soon  as 
Noodle  was  gone,  and  the  banging  hall-door  had  closed 
upon  the  absurd  youth.  That  graceful  and  obedient 
girl  rose ;  went  to  the  back  drawing-room,  on  a  table 
in  which  apartment  the  volume  lay,  and  brought  the 
book  to  her  mama. 

Mrs.  Y.  Z.  turned  to  the  letter  N ;  and  under  that 
initial  discovered  the  name  of  the  young  fellow  who 
had  just  gone  out.  Noodle,  F.,  250,  Jermyn  Street, 
St.  James's.  She  took  a  pen  from  the  table  before  her, 
and  with  it  deliberately  crossed  the  name  of  Mr.  Noodle 
out  of  her  book.  Matilda  looked  at  Eliza,  who  stood 
by  in  silent  awe.  The  sweet  eldest  girl,  who  has  a  kind 
feeling  towards  every  soul  alive,  then  looked  towards  her 
mother  with  expostulating  eyes,  and  said,  "  O  mama  !" 
Dear,  dear  Eliza  !  I  love  all  pitiful  hearts  like  thine. 

But  Mrs.  Y.  Z.  was  in  no  mood  to  be  merciful,  and 
gave  way  to  a  natural  indignation  and  feeling  of  out- 
raged justice. 

"  What  business  has  that  young  man  to  tell  me,"  she 
exclaimed,  "  that  he  declines  going  to  evening  parties, 
when  he  knows  that  after  Easter  we  have  one  or  two  ? 


38  mr.  brown's  letters. 

Has  he  not  met  with,  constant  hospitality  here  since  Mr. 
Y.  Z.  brought  him  home  from  the  Club  ?  Has  he  such 
beaux  yeaux  !  or,  has  he  so  much  wit  ?  or,  is  he  a  man 
of  so  mucli  note,  that  his  company  at  a  dinner-table  be- 
comes indispensable  ?  He  is  nobody ;  he  is  not  hand- 
some ;  he  is  not  clever ;  he  never  opens  his  mouth  ex- 
cept to  drink  your  Papa's  claret ;  and  he  declines 
evening  parties  forsooth ! — Mind,  children,  he  is  never 
invited  into  this  house  again." 

When  Y.  Z.  now  meets  young  Noodle  at  the  Club, 
that  kind,  but  feeble-minded  old  gentleman  covers  up 
his  face  with  the  newspaper,  so  as  not  to  be  seen  by 
Noodle  ;  or  sidles  away  with  his  face  to  the  book-cases, 
and  lurks  off  by  the  door.  The  other  day,  they  met  on 
the  steps,  when  the  wretched  Noodle,  driven  aux  abois, 
actually  had  the  meanness  to  ask  how  Mrs.  Y.  Z.  was  ? 
The  Colonel  (for  such  he  is,  and  of  the  Bombay  service, 
too)  said, — "  My  wife  ?  O  ! — hum  ! — I'm  sorry  to  say 
Mrs.  Y.  Z.  has  been  very  poorly  indeed,  lately,  very 
poorly  ;  and  confined  to  her  room.  God  bless  my  soul ! 
I've  an  appointment  at  the  India  House,  and  it's  past 
two  o'clock  " — and  he  fled. 

I  had  the  malicious  satisfaction  of  describing  to  Noodle 
the  most  sumptuous  dinner  which  Y.  Z.  had  given  the  day 
before,  at  which  there  was  a  Lord  present,  a  Foreign  Minis- 
ter, with  his  Orders,  two  Generals  with  Stars ;  and  every 
luxury  of  the  season  ;  but  at  the  end  of  our  conversa- 
tion, seeing  the  effect  it  had  upon  the  poor  youth,  and 


INFLUENCE    OF    LOVELY    WOMAN.  39 


how  miserably  he  was  cast  down,  I  told  him  the  truth, 
viz.,  that  the  above  story  was  a  hoax,  and  that  if  he 
wanted  to  get  into  Mrs.  Y.  Z.'s  good  graces  again,  his 
best  plan  was  to  go  to  Lady  Flack's  party,  where  I 
knew  the  Miss  Y.  Z.'s  would  be,  and  dance  with  them 
all  night. 

Yes,  my  dear  Bob,  you  boys  must  pay  with  your 
persons,  however  lazy  you  may  be — however  much  in- 
clined to  smoke  at  the  Club,  or  to  lie  there  and  read  the 
last  delicious  new  novel ;  or  averse  to  going  home  to  a 
dreadful  black  set  of  chambers,  where  there  is  no  fire ; 
and  at  ten  o'clock  at  night  creeping  shuddering  into 
your  bail  suit,  in  order  to  go  forth  to  an  evening  party. 
The  dressing,  the  clean  gloves,  and  cab-hire,  are  nui- 
sances, I  grant  you.     The  idea  of  the  party  itself  is  a 
bore,  but  you  must  go.     When  you  are  at  the  party,  it 
is  not  so  stupid  ;  there  is  always  something  pleasant  for 
the  eye  and  attention  of  an  observant  man.     There  is  a 
bustling  Dowager  wheedling  and  manoeuvring  to  get 
proper  partners  for  her  girls ;  there  is  a  pretty  girl  en- 
joying herself  with  all  her  heart,  and  in  all  the  pride  of 
her  beauty,  than  which  I  know  no  more  charming  object ; 
— there  is  poor  Miss  Meg  got,  lonely  up  against  the 
wall,  whom  nobody  asks  to  dance,  and  with  whom  it  is 
your  bounden  duty  to  waltz.     There  is  always  something 
to  see  or  do,  when  you  are   there ;    and   to   evening 
parties,  I  say  you  must  go. 

Perhaps  I  speak  with  the  ease  of  an  old  fellow  who 


40  ivfR.  brown's  letters. 


is  out  of  the  business,  and  beholds  you  from  afar  oft 
My  dear  boy,  they  don't  want  us  at  evening  parties. 
A  stout,  bald-headed  man  dancing,  is  a  melancholy  ob- 
ject to  himself  in  the  looking-glass  opposite,  and  there 
are  duties  and  pleasures  of  all  ages.  Once,  Heaven  help 
us,  and  only  once,  upon  mylionour,  and  I  say  so  as  a 
gentleman,  some  boys  seized  upon  me  and  carried  me  to 
the  Casino,  where,  forthwith,  they  found  acquaintances 
and  partners,  and  went  whirling  away  in  the  double- 
timed  waltz  (it  is  an  abominable  dance  to  me — I  am  an 
old  fogy)  along  with  hundreds  more.  I  caught  sight 
of  a  face  in  the  crowd — the  most  blank,  melancholy, 
and  dreary  old  visage  it  was — my  own  face  in  the  glass 
— there  was  no  use  in  my  being  there.  Canities  adest 
morosa — no,  not  morosa — but,  in  fine,  I  had  no  business 
in  the  place,  and  so  came  away. 

I  saw  enough  of  that  Casino,  however,  to  show  to  me 
that — but  my  paper  is  full,  and  on  the  subject  of  women 
I  have  more  things  to  say,  which  might  fill  many  hundred 
more  pages. 


SOME    MORE    WORDS    ABOUT    THE    LADIES.  41 


SOME  MORE   WORDS   ABOUT   THE  LADIES. 


Suffer  me  to  speak,  ray  dear  Bob,  and  in  somewhat  a 
grave  tone,  about  women,  and  their  influence  over  you 
young  fellows — an  influence  so  vast,  for  good  or  for 

evil. 

I  have,  as  you  pretty  well  know,  an  immense  sum  of 
money  in  the  Three  per  Cents.,  the  possession  of  which 
does  not,  I  think,  decrease  your  respect  for  my  charac- 
ter, and  of  which  at  my  demise,  you  will  possibly  have 
your  share.  But  if  ever  I  hear  of  you  as  a  Casino 
haunter,  as  a  frequenter  of  Races  and  Greenwich  Fairs, 
and  such  amusements,  in  questionable  company,  I  give 
you  my  honour  you  shall  benefit  by  no  legacy  of  mine, 
and  I  will  divide  the  portion  that  was,  and  is,  I  hope,  to 
be  yours,  amongst  your  sisters. 

Think,  Sir,  of  what  they  are,  and  of  your  mother  at 
ome,  spotless  and  pious,  loving  and  pure,  and  shape 
your  own  course  so*  as  to  be  worthy  of  them.  Would 
you  do  anything  to  give  them  pain  ?  Would  you  say 
anything  that  should  bring  a  blush  to  their  fair  cheeks, 
or  shock  their  gentle  natures  ?     At  the  Royal  Academy 


42  mr.  brown's  letters. 


Exhibition  last  year,  when  that  great  stupid,  dandified 
donkey,  Captain  Grigg,  in  company  with  the  othei 
vulgar  oaf,  Mr.  Gowker,  ventured  to  stare  in  rather  an 
insolent  manner,  at  your  pretty  little  sister  Fanny,  who 
had  come  blushing  like  a  Mav-rose  from  Miss  Pinker- 
ton's  Academy,  I  saw  how  your  honest  face  flushed  up 
with  indignation,  as  you  caught  a  sight  of  the  hideous 
grins  and  ogles  of  those  two  ruffians  in  varnished  boots  ; 
and  your  eyes  flashed  out  at  them  glances  of  defiance 
and  warning  so  savage  and  terrible,  that  the  discomfited 
wretches  turned  wisely  upon  their  heels,  and  did  \  not 
care  to  face  such  a  resolute  young  champion  as  Bob 
Brown.  What  is  it  that  makes  all  your  blood  tingle, 
and  fills  your  heart  with  a  vague  and  fierce  desire  to 
thrash  somebody,  when  the  idea  of  the  possibility  of  an 
insult  to  that  fair  creature  enters  your  mind  ?  You 
can't  bear  to  think  that  injury  should  be  done  to  a 
being  so  sacred,  so  innocent,  and  so  defenceless.  You 
would  do  battle  with  a  Goliath  in  her  cause.  Your 
sword  would  leap  from  its  scabbard  (that  is,  if  you 
gentlemen  from  Pump  Court  wore  swords  and  scabbards 
at  the  present  period  of  time,)  to  avenge  or  defend  her. 
Respect  all  beauty,  all  innocence,  my  dear  Bob  ; 
defend  all  defencelessness  in  your  sister,  as  in  the  sisters  of 
other  men.  We  have  all  heard  the  story  of  the  Gentle- 
man of  the  last  century,  who,  when  a  crowd  of  young 
bucks  and  bloods  in  the  Crush-room  of  the  Opera  were 
laughing  and  elbowing  an  old  lady  there — an  old  lady, 


SOME    MORE    WORDS    ABOUT    THE    LADLES.  43 


lonely,  ugly,  and  unprotected — went  up  to  her  r 
rallv  and  offered  her  his  arm,  took  her  down  to  his 
own  carriage  which  was  in  waiting,  and  walked  home 
himself  in  the  rain, — and  twenty  years  afterwards  had 
ten  thousand  a  year  left  him  by  this  very  old  lady,  as  a 
reward  for  that  one  act  of  politene— .  We  have  all 
heard  that  story ;  nor  do  I  think  it  is  probable  that 
you  will  have  ten  thousand  a-year  left  to  you,  for  being 
polite  to  a  woman  :  but  I  say,  be  polite,  at  any  rate.  Be 
respectfid  to  every  woman.  A  manly  and  generous 
heart  can  be  no  otherwise ;  as  a  man  would  be  gentle 
with  a  child,  or  take  off  his  hat  in  a  church. 

I  would  have  you  apply  this  principle  universally  to- 
wards women — from  the  finest  lady  of  your  acquaintance 
down  to  the  laundress  who  sets  your  Chambers  in  order. 
It  may  safely  be  asserted  that  the  persons  who  joke  with 
barmaids  or  servants  at  lodgings,  are  not  men  of  a  high 
intellectual  or  moral  capacity.  To  chuck  a  still-room 
maid  under  the  chin,  or  to  send  off  Molly  the  cook 
grinning,  are  not,  to  say  the  least  of  them,  dignified  acts 
in  any  gentleman.  The  butcher-boy  who  brings  the  leg 
of  mutton  to  Molly  may  converse  with  her  over  the 
area-railings  ;  or  the  youthful  grocer  may  exchange  a 
few  jocular  remarks  with  Betty  at  the  door  as  he  hands 
in  to  her  the  tea  and  sugar  ;  but  not  you.  We  must 
live  according  to  our  degree.  I  hint  this  to  you,  Sir. 
by  the  way,  and  because  the  other  night  as  I  was  stand- 
ing on  the  drawing-room  landing-place,  taking  leave  of 


44  mr.  brown's  letters. 

our  friends  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Fairfax,  after  a  very  agreea- 
ble dinner,  I  heard  a  giggling  in  the  hall,  where  you 
were  putting  on  your  coat,  and  where  that  uncommonly 
good-looking  parlour  maid  was  opening  the  door.  And 
here,  whilst  on  this  subject,  and  whilst  Mrs.  Betty  is 
helping  you  on  with  your  coat,  I  would  say,  respecting 
your  commerce  with  your  friends'  servants  and  your 
own  ;  be  thankful  to  them,  and  they  will  be  grateful  to 
you  in  return,  depend  upon  it.  Let  the  young  fellow 
who  lives  in  lodgings  respect  the  poor  little  maid  who 
does  the  wondrous  work  of  the  house,  and  not  send  her 
on  too  many  errands,  or  ply  his  bell  needlessly  :  if  you 
visit  any  of  your  comrades  in  such  circumstances,  be 
you,  too,  respectful  and  kindly  in  your  tone  to  the  poor 
little  Abigail.  If  you  frequent  houses,  as  I  hope  you 
will,  where  are  many  good  fellows  and  amiable  ladies 
who  cannot  afford  to  have  their  doors  opened  or  their 
tables  attended  by  men,  pray  be  particularly  courteous 
(though  by  no  means  so  marked  in  your  attentions  as 
on  the  occasion  of  the  dinner  at  Mr.  Fairfax's  to  which 
I  have  just  alluded)  to  the  women-servants.  Thank 
them  when  they  serve  you.  Give  them  a  half-crown 
now  and  then,  nay,  as  often  as  your  means  will  permit. 
Those  small  gratuities  make  but  a  small  sum  in  your 
year's  expenses,  and  it  may  be  said  that  the  practice  of 
giving  them  never  impoverished  a  man  yet :  and  on  the 
other  hand,  they  give  a  deal  of  innocent  happiness  to  a 
very  worthy,  active,  kind  set  of  folks. 


SOME    MORE    WORDS    ABOUT    THE    LADIES.  45 


But  let  us  hasten  from  the  hall-cloor  to  the  drawing- 
room,  where  Fortune  has  cast  your  lot  in  life  :  I  want 
to  explain  to  you  why  I  am  so  anxious  that  you  should 
devote  yourself  to  that  amiable  lady  who  sits  in  it.  Sir, 
I  do  not  mean  to  tell  you  that  there  are  no  women  in 
the  world,  vulgar  and  ill-humoured,  rancorous  and  nar- 
row-minded, mean  schemers,  son-in-law  hunters,  slaves 
of  fashion,  hypocrites  ;  but  I  do  respect,  admire,  and 
almost  worship  good  women  ;  and  I  think  there  is  a 
very  fair  number  of  such  to  be  found  in  this  world,  and 
I  have  no  doubt  in  every  educated  Englishman's  circle 
of  society,  whether  he  finds  that  circle  in  palaces  in  Bel- 
gravia  and  May  Fair,  in  snug  little  suburban  villas,  in 
ancient  comfortable  old  Bloomsbury,  or  in  back  par- 
lours behind  the  shop.  It  has  been  my  fortune  to  meet 
with  excellent  English  ladies  in  every  one  of  these  places 
— wives  graceful  and  affectionate,  matrons  tender  and 
good,  daughters  happy  and  pure-minded,  and  I  urge  the 
society  of  such  to  you,  because  I  defy  you  to  think  evil 
in  their  company.  Walk  into  the  drawing-room  of 
Lady  Z.,  that  great  lady  :  look  at  her  charming  face, 
and  hear  her  voice.  You  know  that  she  can't  but  be 
srood,  with  such  a  face  and  such  a  voice.  She  is  one  of 
those  fortunate  beings  on  whom  it  has  pleased  heaven 
to  bestow  all  sorts  of  its  most  precious  gifts  and  richest 
worldly  favours.  With  what  a  grace  she  receives  you ; 
with  what  a  frank  kindness  and  natural  sweetness  and 
dignity !    Her  looks,  her  motions,  her  words,  her  thoughts, 


46  mr.  brown's  letters. 

all  seem  to  be  beautiful  and  harmonious  quite.     See  liei 
with  her  children,  what  woman  can  be  more  simple  and 
lo\ing  ?     After  you  have  talked  to  her  for  a  while,  you 
very  likely  find  that  she  is  ten  times  as  well  read  as  you 
are  :  she  has  a  hundred  accomplishments  which  she  is  . 
not  in  the  least  anxious  to  show  off",  and  makes  no  more 
account  of  them  than  of  her  diamonds,  or  of  the  splen- 
dour round  about  her — to  all  of  which  she  is  born,  and 
has  a  happy,  admirable  claim  of  nature  and  possession 
— admirable  and  happy  for  her  and  for  us  too ;  for  is  it 
not  a  happiness  for  us  to  admire  her  ?     Does  anybody 
grudge  her  excellence  to  that  paragon  ?     Sir,  we  may 
be  thankful  to  be  admitted  to  contemplate  such  consum- 
mate goodness  and  beauty :  and  as  in  looking  at  a  fine 
landscape  or  a  fine  work  of  Art,  every  generous  heart 
must  be   delighted  and  improved,  and   ought    to   feel 
grateful  afterwards,  so  one  may  feel  charmed  and  thank- 
ful for  having  the  opportunity  of  knowing  an  almost 
perfect  woman.     Madam,  if  the  gout  and  the  custom  of 
the  world  permitted,  I  would  kneel  down  and  kiss  the 
hem  of  your  Ladyship's  robe.     To  see  your  gracious 
face  is  a  comfort — to  see  you  walk  to  your  carriage  is  a 
holiday.      Drive   her  faithfully,   O   thou   silver-wigged 
coachman !  drive  her  to  all  sorts  of  splendours  and  ho- 
nours and  Royal  festivals.     And  for  us,  let  us  be  glad 
that  we  should  have  the  privilege  to  admire  her. 

Now,  transport  yourself  in  spirit,  my  good  Bob,  into 
another  drawing-room.     The^e  sits  an  old  lady  of  mors 


SOME    MORE    WORDS    ABOUT    THE    LADIES.  47 

than  four-score  years,  serene  and  kind,  and  as  beautiful 
in  her  age  now,  as  in  her  youth,  when  History  toasted 
her.  What  has  she  not  seen,  and  is  she  not  ready  to 
tell  ?  All  the  fame  and  wit,  all  the  rank  and  beauty,  of 
more  than  half  a  century,  have  passed  through  those 
rooms  where  you  have  the  honour  of  making  your  best 
bow.  She  is  as  simple  now  as  if  she  had  never  had  any 
flattery  to  dazzle  her  :  she  is  never  tired  of  being  pleased 
and  being  kind.  Can  that  have  been  anything  but  a  good 
life  which  after  more  than  eighty  years  of  it  are  spent, 
is  so  calm  ?  Could  she  look  to  the  end  of  it  so  cheer- 
fully, if  its  long  course  had  not  been  pure  ?  Respect 
her,  I  say,  for  being  so  happy,  now  that  she  is  old.  We 
do  not  know  what  goodness  and  charity,  what  affections, 
what  trials,  may  have  gone  to  make  that  charming 
sweetness  of  temper,  and  complete  that  perfect  manner. 
But  if  we  do  not  admire  and  reverence  such  an  old  age 
as  that,  and  get  good  from  contemplating  it,  what  are 
we  to  respect  and  admire  ? 

Or  shall  Ave  walk  through  the  shop  (while  1ST.  is  recom- 
mending a  tall  copy  to  an  amateur,  or  folding  up  two- 
penny worth  of  letter-paper,  and  bowing  to  a  poor  cus- 
tomer in  a  jacket  and  apron,  with  just  as  much  respectful 
gravity  as  he  would  show  while  waiting  upon  a  Duke,) 
and  see  Mrs.  N.  playing  with  the  child  in  the  back  par- 
lour until  N.  shall  come  in  to  tea  ?  They  drink  tea  at 
five  o'clock ;  and  are  actually  as  well-bred  as  those  gen- 
tlefolks who  dine  three  hours  later.      Or  will  you  please 


48  mr.  brown's  letters. 

to  step  in  to  Mrs.  J.'s  lodgings,  who  is  waiting,  and  at 
work,  until  her  husband  comes  home  from  Chambers  ? 
She  blushes  and  puts  the  work  away  on  hearing  the 
knock,  but  when  she  sees  who  the  visitor  is,  she  takes 
it  with  a  smile  from  behind  the  sofa  cushion,  and  behold, 
it  is  one  of  J.'s  waistcoats  on  which  she  is  sewing  but- 
tons. She  might  have  been  a  Countess  blazing  in  dia- 
monds, had  Fate  so  willed  it,  and  the  higher  her  station, 
the  more  she  would  have  adorned  it.  But  she  looks  as 
charming  while  plying  her  needle,  as  the  great  lady  in 
her  palace  whose  equal  she  is, — in  beauty,  in  goodness, 
in  highbred  grace  and  simplicity : — at  least,  I  can't  fan- 
cy her  better,  or  any  Peeress  being  more  than  her  peer. 
And  it  is  with  this  sort  of  people,  my  dear  Bob,  that 
I  recommend  you  to  consort,  if  you  can  be  so  lucky  as 
to  meet  with  their  society — nor  do  I  think  you  are  very 
likely  to  find  many  such  at  the  Casino ;  or  in  the  danc- 
ing-booths of  Greenwich  Fair  on  this  present  Easter 
Monday. 


ON    FRIENDSHIP.  49 


ON  FRIENDSHIP. 


Choice  of  friends,  my  dear  Robert,  is  a  point  upon 
which  every  man  about  town  should  be  instructed,  as  he 
should  be  careful.  And  as  example,  they  say,  is  some- 
times better  than  precept,  and  at  the  risk  even  of  ap- 
pearing somewhat  ludicrous  in  your  eyes,  I  will  narrate 
to  you  an  adventure  which  happened  to  myself,  which 
is  at  once  ridiculous  and  melancholy  (at  least  to  me) 
and  which  will  show  you  how  a  man,  not  imprudent  or 
incautious  of  his  own  nature,  may  be  made  to  suffer  by 
the  imprudent  selection  of  a  friend.  Attend  then,  my 
dear  Bob,  to  "the  History  of  Rasselas,  Prince  of 
Abyssinia." 

Sir, — In  the  year  1810,  I  was  a  jolly  young  Bachelor 
as  you  are  now  (indeed,  it  was  three  years  before  I 
married  your  poor  dear  Aunt) ;  I  had  a  place  in  the 
Tape  and  Sealing- Wax  Office ;  I  had  Chambers  in 
Pump  Court,  au  troisieme,  and  led  a  not  uncomfortable 
life  there.  I  was  a  free  and  gay  young  fellow  in  those 
days,  (however  much,  Sir,  you  may  doubt  the  assertion, 
and  think  that  I  am  changed,)  and  not  so  particular  in 

3 


50  MR.    BROWN'S    LETTERS. 


my  choice  of  friends  as  subsequent  experience  has  led 
me  to  be. 

There  lived  in  the  set  of  Chambers  opposite  to  mine, 
a  Suffolk  gentleman,  of  good  family,  whom  I  shall  call 
Mr.  Bludyer.  Our  boys  or  clerks  first  made  acquaint- 
ance, and  did  each  other  mutual  kind  offices :  borrow- 
ing for  their  respective  masters'  benefit,  neither  of  whom 
was  too  richly  provided  with  the  world's  goods,  coals, 
blacking-brushes,  crockery-ware,  and  the  like ;  and  our 
forks  and  spoons,  if  either  of  us  had  an  entertainment  in 
Chambers.  As  I  learned  presently  that  Mr.  Bludyer 
had  been  educated  at  Oxford,  and  heard  that  his  elder 
brother  was  a  gentleman  of  good  estate  and  reputation 
in  his  county,  I  could  have  no  objection  to  make  his 
acquaintance,  and  accepted  finally  his  invitation  to  meet 
a  large  game-pie  which  he  had  brought  with  him  from 
the  country,  and  I  recollect  I  lent  my  own  silver  tea-pot, 
which  figured  handsomely  on  the  occasion.  It  is  the 
same  one  which  I  presented  to  you,  when  you  took  pos- 
session of  your  present  apartments. 

Mr.  Bludyer  was  a  sporting  man :  it  was  the  custom 
in  those  days  with  many  gentlemen  to  dress  as  much 
like  coachmen^  as  possible ;  in  top-boots,  huge  white 
coats  with  capes,  Belcher  neckerchiefs,  and  the  like 
adornments ;  and  at  the  tables  of  bachelors  of  the  very 
first  fashion,  you  would  meet  with  prize-fighters  and 
jockeys,  and  hear  a  great  deal  about  the  prize-ring,  the 
cock-pit,  and  the  odds.     I  remember  my  Lord  Tilbury 


ON*    FRIENDSHIP.  51 


was  present  at  this  breakfast  (who  afterwards  lament- 
ably broke  his  neck  in  a  steeple-chase,  by  which  the 
noble  family  became  extinct),  and  for  some  time  I  con- 
founded his  Lordship  with  Dutch  Sam,  who  was  also  of 
the  party,  and,  indeed,  not  unlike  the  noble  Viscount  in 
dress  and  manner. 

My  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Bludyer  ripened  into  a 
sort  of  friendship.  He  was  perfectly  good-natured,  and 
not  ill-bred ;  and  his  jovial  spirits  and  roaring  stories 
amused  a  man  who,  though  always  of  a  peaceful  turn, 
had  no  dislike  to  cheerful  companions.  We  used  to 
dine  together  about  at  coffee-houses,  for  Clubs  were 
scarcely  invented  in  those  days,  except  for  the  aristo- 
cracy ;  and,  in  fine,  were  very  intimate.  Bludyer,  a 
brave  and  athletic  man,  would  often  give  a  loose  to  his 
spirits  of  an  evening,  and  mill  a  Charley  or  two,  as  the 
phrase  then  was.  The  young  bloods  of  those  days 
thought  it  was  no  harm  to  spend  a  night  in  the  watch- 
house,  and  I  assure  you  it  has  accommodated  a  deal  of 
good  company.  Autres  temps,  autres  mosurs.  In  our 
own  days,  my  good  Bob,  a  station-house  bench  is  not 
the  bed  for  a  gentleman. 

I  was  at  this  time  (and  deservedly  so,  for  I  had  been 
very  Hud  to  her,  and  my  elder  brother,  your  father, 
neglected  her  considerably)  the  fayourite  nephew  of 
your  Grand-Aunt,  my  Aunt,  Mrs.  General  Mac 
Whirter,  who  was  left  a  very  handsome  fortune  by  the 
General,  and  to  whom  I  do  not  scruple  to  confess  I  paid 


52  mr.  brown's  letters. 


every  attention  to  which  her  age,  her  sex,  and  her  large 
income  entitled  her.  I  used  to  take  sweetmeats  to  her 
poodle.  I  went  and  drank  tea  with  her  night  after 
night.  I  accompanied  her  Sunday  after  Sunday  to  hear 
the  Rev.  Rowland  Hill,  at  the  Rotunda  Chapel,  over 
Blackfriars  Bridge,  and  I  used  to  read  many  of  the 
Tracts  with  which  she  liberally  supplied  me — in  fact,  do 
everything  to  comfort  and  console  a  lady  of  peculiar 
opinions  and  habits  who  had  a  large  jointure.  Your 
father  used  to  say  I  was  a  sneak,  but  he  was  then  a 
boisterous  young  Squire  ;  and  perhaps  we  were  not  par- 
ticularly good  friends. 

"Well,  Sir ;  my  dear  Aunt,  Mrs.  General  Mac  Whir- 
ter,  made  me  her  chief  confidant.  I  regulated  her 
money  matters  for  her,  and  acted  with  her  bankers  and 
lawyers;  and  as  she  always  spoke  of  your  father  as  a 
reprobate,  I  had  every  reason  to  suppose  I  should 
inherit  the  property,  the  main  part  of  which  has  now 
passed  to  another  branch  of  the  Browns.  I  do  not 
grudge  it,  Bob  :  I  do  not  grudge  it.  Your  family  is 
large ;  and  I  have  enough  from  my  poor  dear  departed 
wife. 

Now  it  so  happened,  that  in  June  1811, — I  recollect 
the  Comet  was  blazing  furiously  at  the  time,  and  Mrs. 
Mac  Whirter  was  of  opinion  that  the  world  was  at  an 
end — Mr.  Bludyer,  who  was  having  his  Chambers  in 
Pump  Court  painted,  asked  permission  to  occupy  mine, 
where  he  wished  to  give  a  lunch  to  some  people  whom 


ON    FRIENDSHIP.  53 


he  was  desirous  to  entertain.  Thinking  no  harm,  of 
course  I  said  yes ;  and  I  went  to  my  desk  at  the  Tape 
and  Sealing-Wax  Office,  at  my  usual  hour,  giving 
instructions  to  my  boy  to  make  Mr.  Bludyer's  friends 
comfortable. 

As  ill  luck  would  have  it,  on  that  accursed  Friday, 
Mrs.  Mac  "Whirter,  who  had  never  been  up  my  stair- 
case before  in  her  life  (for  your  dear  Grand-Aunt  was 
large  in  person,  and  the  apoplexy,  which  carried  her 
off  soon  after,  menaced  her  always),  having  some  very 
particular  business  with  her  solicitors  in  Middle  Temple 
Lane,  and  being  anxious  to  consult  me  about  a  mort- 
gage, actually  mounted  my  stairs,  and  opened  the  door 
on  which  she  saw  written  the  name  of  Mr.  Thomas 
Brown.  She  was  a  peculiar  woman,  I  have  said, 
attached  to  glaring  colours  in  her  dress,  and  from  her 
lono-  residence  in  India,  seldom  without  a  set  of  costlv 
Birds  of  Paradise  in  her  bonnet,  and  a  splendid  Cash- 
mere shawl. 

Fancy  her  astonishment  then,  on  entering  my  apart- 
ments at  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  to  be  assailed  in 
the  first  place  by  a  strong  smell  of  tobacco-smoke  which 
pervaded  the  passage,  and  by  a  wild  and  ferocious  bull- 
dog which  flew  at  her  on  entering  my  sitting-room  ? 

This  bull-dog,  Sir,  doubtless  attracted  by  the  brilliant 
colours  of  her  costume,  seized  upon  her,  and  pinned  her 
down,  screaming,  so  that  her  voice  drowned  that  of 
Bludyer  himself,  who  was  sitting  on  the  table  bellow- 


54  mr.  brown's  letters. 


ing  "  A  Southerly  wind  and  a  Cloudy  Sky  proclaim  a 
hunting  Morning'''' — or  some  such  ribald  trash :  and  the 
brutal  owner  of  the  dog  (who  was  no  other  than  the 
famous  Mulatto  boxer,  Norroy,  called  the  "  Black 
Prince"  in  the  odious  language  of  the  Fancy)  and  who 
was  inebriated  doubtless  at  the  moment,  encouraged 
his  dog  in  the  assault  upon  this  defenceless  lady,  and 
laughed  at  the  agonies  which  she  endured. 

Mr.  Bludyer,  the  black  man,  and  one  or  two  more, 
were  arranging  a  fight  on  Mousley  Hurst,  when  my 
poor  Aunt  made  her  appearance  among  these  vulgar 
wretches.  Although  it  was  but  three  o'clock,  they  had 
sent  for  gin-and-water  to  a  neighbouring  tavern,  and 
the  glasses  sparkled  on  the  board, — to  use  a  verse 
from  a  Bacchanalian  song  which  I  well  remember 
Mr.  Bludyer  used  to  yell  forth — when  I  myself 
arrived  from  my  Office  at  my  usual  hour,  half-past 
three.  The  black  fellow,  and  young  Captain  Caven- 
dish of  the  Guards,  were  the  smokers  ;  and  it  appears, 
that  at  first  all  the  gentlemen  screamed  with  laughter ; 
some  of  them  called  my  Aunt  an  "  old  girl ;"  and  it  was 
not  until  she  had  nearly  fainted  that  the  filthy  Mulatto 
called  the  dog  off  from  the  flounce  of  her  yellow  gown 
of  which  he  had  hold. 

When  this  poor  victim  of  vulgarity  asked  with  a 
scream — where  was  her  nephew  ?  new  roars  of  laughtei 
broke  out  from  the  coarse  gin-drinkers.  "  It's  the  old 
woman    whom   he  goes  to  Meeting  with,"  cried  out 


ON    FRIENDSHIP.  55 


Bludyer.  "  Come  away,  boys ;"  and  he  led  his  bru- 
talised  crew  out  of  my  Chambers  into  his  own,  where 
they  finished,  no  doubt,  their  arrangements  about  the 
fight. 

Sir,  when  I  came  home  at  my  usual  hour  of  half-past 
three,  I  found  Mrs.  Mac  Whirter  in  hysterics  upon  my 
sofa — the  pipes  were  lying  about — the  tin  dish  covers — 
the  cold  kidneys — the  tavern  cruet-stands,  and  wretched 
remnants  of  the  orgy  were  in  disorder  on  the  table- 
cloth, stained  with  beer.  Seeing  her  fainting,  I  wildly 
bade  my  boy  to  open  the  window,  and  seizing  a  glass 
of  water  which  was  on  the  table,  I  presented  it  to  her 
lips. — It  was  gin-and-water,  which  I  proffered  to  that 
poor  lady. 

She  started  up  with  a  scream,  which  terrified  me  as  I 
upset  the  glass  :  and  with  empurpled  features  and  a 
voice  quivering  and  choking  with  anger,  she  vowed  she 
would  never  forgive  me.  In  vain  I  pleaded  that  I  was 
ignorant  of  the  whole  of  these  disgraceful  transactions. 
I  went  down  on  my  knees  to  her,  and  begged  her  to  be 
pacified  ;  I  called  my  boy,  and  bade  him  bear  witness  to 
my  innocence  ;  the  impudent  young  fiend  burst  out 
laughing  in  my  face,  and  I  kicked  him  down  stairs  as 
soon  as  she  was  gone  :  for  go  she  did  directly  to  her 
carriage,  which  was  in  waiting  in  Middle  Temple  Lane, 
and  to  which  I  followed  her  with  tears  in  my  eyes, 
amidst  a  crowd  of  jeering  barristers'  boys  and  Temple 
porters.     But  she  pulled  up  the  window  in  my  face,  and 


56  mr.  brown's  letters. 

would  no  more  come  back  to  me  than  Eurydice  would 
to  Orpheus. 

If  I  grow  pathetic  over  this  story,  my  dear  Bob,  have 
I  not  reason  ?  Your  Great- Aunt  left  thirty  thousand 
pounds  to  your  family,  and  the  remainder  to  the  Mis- 
sionaries, and  it  is  a  curious  proof  of  the  inconsistency 
of  women,  that  she,  a  serious  person,  said  on  her  death- 
bed that  she  would  have  left  her  money  to  me,  if  I  had 
called  out  Mr.  Bludyer,  who  insulted  her,  and  with 
whom  I  certainly  would  have  exchanged  shots,  had  I 
thought  that  Mrs.  Mac  Whirter  would  have  en- 
couraged any  such  murder. 

My  wishes,  dear  Bob,  are  moderate.  Your  Aunt  left 
me  a  handsome  competency — and,  I  repeat,  I  do  not 
grudge  my  brother  George  the  money.  Nor  is  it 
probable  that  such  a  calamity  can  happen  again  to  any 
one  of  our  family — that  would  be  too  great  misfortune. 
But  I  tell  you  the  tale,  because  at  least  it  shows  you 
how  important  good  company  is,  and  that  a  young  man 
about  town  should  beware  of  his  friends  as  well  as  of 
his  enemies. 

We  will  pursue  the  subject  of  friends  generally  in  a 
future  letter,  and  I  am  meanwhile,  my  dear  Bob,  always 

Your  Affectionate  Uncle. 


BROWN    THE    YOUNGER    AT    A    CLUB.  57 


MR.  BROWN  THE  ELDER  TAKES  MR.  BROWN 
THE  YOUNGER  TO  A  CLUB. 


I. 

Presuming  that  my  dear  Bobby  would  scarcely  consi- 
der himself  to  be  an  accomplished  man  about  town, 
until  he  had  obtained  an  entrance  into  a  respectable 
Club ;  I  am  happy  to  inform  you,  that  you  are  this  day 
elected  a  Member  of  the  Polyanthus,  having  been  pro- 
posed by  my  kind  friend,  Lord  Viscount  Colchicum, 
and  seconded  by  your  affectionate  uncle.  I  have 
settled  with  Mr.  Stiff,  the  worthy  Secretary,  the  preli- 
minary pecuniary  arrangements  regarding  the  entrance 
fee  and  the  first  annual  subscription — the  ensuing  pay- 
ments I  shall  leave  to  my  worthy  nephew. 

You  were  elected,  Sir,  with  but  two  black  balls ;  and 
every  other  man  who  was  put  up  for  ballot  had  four, 
with  the  exception  of  Tom  Harico,  who  had  more 
black  bear  .  than  white.  Do  not,  however,  be  puffed 
up  by  this  victory,  and  fancy  yourself  more  popular 
than  other  men.  Indeed  I  don't  mind  telling  you  (but, 
of  course,  I  do  not  wish  this  to  go  any  further,)  that 
Captain  Slyboots  and  I,  having   suspicions   of    the 

3* 


58  Mr*  brown's  letters. 

Meeting,  popped  a  couple  of  adverse  balls  into  the  other 
candidates'  boxes  ;  so  that,  at  least,  you  should,  in  case 
of  mishap,  not  be  Unaccompanied  in  ill  fortune. 

Now  then,  that  you  are  a  member  of  the  Polyanthus, 
I  trust  you  will  comport  yourself  with  propriety  in  the 
place;  and  permit  me  to  offer  you  a  few  hints  with 
regard  to  your  bearing. 

We  are  not  so  stiff  at  the  Polyanthus  as  at  some 
clubs  I  could  name — and  a  good  deal  of  decent  intimacy 
takes  place  amongst  us. — Do  not  therefore  enter  the 
club,  as  I  have  seen  men  do  at  the  Chokers  (of  which  I 
am  also  a  member,)  with  your  eyes  scowling  under 
your  hat  at  your  neighbour,  and  with  an  expression  of 
countenance  which  seems  to  say,  "Hang  your  impu- 
dence, Sir.  How  dare  you  stare  at  me  ?n  Banish  that 
absurd  dignity  and  swagger,  which  do  not  at  all  become 
your  youthful  countenance,  my  dear  Bob,  and  let  us 
walk  up  the  steps  and  into  the  place. — See,  old  Nose- 
worthy  is  in  the  bow-window  reading  the  paper — He 
is  always  in  the  bow-window  reading  the  paper. 

We  pass  by  the  worthy  porter,  and  alert  pages — a 
fifteen-hundredth  part  of  each  of  whom  is  henceforth 
your  paid-for  property — and  you  see  he  takes  down 
your  name  as  Mr.  R.  Brown,  Junior,  and  will  know 
you  and  be  civil  to  you  until  death — Ha,  there  is  Jaw- 
kins,  as  usual ;  he  has  nailed  poor  Styles  up  against  a 
pillar,  and  is  telling  him  what  the  opinion  of  the  City  is 
about  George  Hudson,  Esq.,  and  when  Sir  Robert 


BROWN  THE  YOUNGER  Af  A.  CLUB.        59 


will  take  the  government.  How  d'you  do,  Jawkins  ? — 
Satisfactory  news  from  India  ?  Gilbert  to  be  made 
Baron  Gilbert  of  Goojerat  ?  Indeed,  I  don't  intro- 
duce you  to  Jawkins,  my  poor  Bob  ;  he  will  do  that 
for  himself,  and  you  will  have  quite  enough  of  him,  be- 
fore many  days  are  over. 

Those  three  gentlemen  sitting  on  the  sofa  are  from 
our  beloved  sister  island ;  they  come  here  every  day, 
and  wait  for  the  Honourable  Member  for  Ballinafad, 
who  is  at  present  in  the  writing-room. 

I  have  remarked,  in  London,  however,  that  every 
Irish  gentleman  is  accompanied  by  other  Irish  gentle- 
men, who  wait  for  him  as  here,  or  at  the  corner  of  the 
street.  These  are  waiting  until  the  Honourable  Member 
for  Ballinafad  can  get  them  three  places,  in  the  Excise, 
in  the  Customs,  and  a  little  thing  in  the  Post  Office,  no 
doubt.  One  of  them  sends  home  a  tremendous  account 
of  parties  and  politics  here,  which  appears  in  the  Balli- 
nafad Banner.  He  knows  everything.  He  has  just 
been  closeted  with  Peel,  and  can  vouch  for  it  that 
Clarendon  has  been  sent  for.  He  knows  who  wrote 
the  famous  pamphlet,  "  Ways  and  Means  for  Ireland," 
— all  the  secrets  of  the  present  Cabinet,  the  designs  of 
Sir  James  Graham.  How  Lord  John  can  live  under 
those  articles  which  he  writes  in  the  Banner  is  a  miracle 
to  me  !  I  hope  he  will  get  that  little  thing  in  the  Post 
Office  soon. 

This  is  the  newspaper-room — enter  the  Porter  with 


60  mr.  brown's  letters. 

the  evening  papers — what  a  rush  the  men  make  for 
them  !  Do  you  want  to  see  one  ?  Here  is  the  Standard 
— nice  article  about  the  Starling  Club — very  pleasant, 
candid,  gentleman-like  notice — Club  composed  of  cler- 
gymen, atheists,  authors,  and  artists.  Their  chief  con- 
versation is  blasphemy  :  they  have  statues  of  Socrates 
and  Mahomet  on  the  centre-piece  of  the  dinner  table,  take 
every  opportunity  of  being  disrespectful  to  Moses,  and  a 
dignified  clergyman  always  proposes  the  Glorious,  Pious, 
and  Immortal  Memory  of  Confucius.  Grace  is  said 
backwards,  and  the  Catechism  treated  with  the  most 
irreverent  ribaldry  by  the  comic  authors  and  the  general 
company. — Are  these  men  to  be  allowed  to  meet,  and 
their  horrid  orgies  to  continue  ?  Have  you  had  enough  ? 
— let  us  go  into  the  other  rooms. 

What  a  calm  and  pleasant  seclusion  the  library  pre- 
sents after  the  bawl  and  bustle  of  the  newspaper-room  ! 
There  is  never  any  body  here.  English  gentlemen  get 
up  such  a  prodigious  quantity  of  knowledge  in  their 
early  life,  that  they  leave  off  reading  soon  after  they 
begin  to  shave,  or  never  look  at  anything  but  a  news- 
paper. How  pleasant  this  room  is, — isn't  it  ?  with  its 
sober  draperies,  and  long  calm  lines  of  peaceful  volumes 
— nothing  to  interrupt  the  quiet — only  the  melody  of 
Horner's  nose  as  he  lies  asleep  upon  one  of  the  sofas. 
What  is  he  reading ?  Hah  !  "Pendennis"  No.  VII. — 
hum,  let  us  pass  on.  Have  you  read  "  David  Copper- 
field"  by  the  way  ?     How  beautiful  it  is — how  charm 


BROWN  THE  YOUNGER  AT  A  CLUB.        61 

ingly  fresh  and  simple !  In  those  admirable  touches  of 
tender  humour — and  I  should  call  humour,  Bob,  a  mix- 
ture of  love  and  wit — who  can  equal  this  great  genius  ? 
There  are  little  words  and  phrases  in  his  books  which 
are  like  personal  benefits  to  the  reader.  What  a  place 
it  is  to  hold  in  the  affections  of  men !  What  an  awful 
responsibility  hanging  over  a  writer  !  What  man  hold- 
ing such  a  place,  and  knowing  that  his  words  go  forth 
to  vast  congregations  of  mankind, — to  grown  folks — to 
their  children,  and  perhaps  to  their  children's  children, 
— but  must  think  of  his  calling  with  a  solemn  and 
humble  heart !  May  love  and  truth  guide  such  a  man 
always  !  It  is  an  awful  prayer ;  may  heaven  further  its 
fulfilment !  And  then,  Bob,  let  the  Record  revile  him 
— See,  here's  Horner  waking  up — How  do  you  do, 
Horner  ? 

This  neighbouring  room,  which  is  almost  as  quiet  as 
the  library,  is  the  card-room,  you  see.  There  are  al- 
ways three  or  four  devotees  assembled  in  it;  and  the 
lamps  are  scarcely  ever  out  in  this  Temple  of  Trumps. 

I  admire,  as  I  see  them,  my  dear  Bobby,  grave  and 
silent  at  these  little  green  tables,  not  moved  outwardly 
by  grief  or  pleasure  at  losing  or  winning,  but  calmly 
pursuing  their  game  (as  that  pursuit  is  called,  which  is 
in  fact  the  most  elaborate  science  and  study)  at  noon- 
day, entirely  absorbed,  and  philosophically  indifferent  to 
the  bustle  and  turmoil  of  the  enormous  working*  world 
without.     Disraeli   may    make   his  best  speech  ;  the 


62  mr.  brown's  letters. 


Hungarians  may  march  into  Vienna  ;  the  Protectionists 
come  in  ;  Louis-Philippe  be  restored ;  or  the  Thames 
set  on  fire  ;  and  Colonel  Pam.  and  Mr.  Trumpington 
will  never  leave  their  table,  so  engaging  is  their  occupa- 
tion at  it.  The  turning  up  of  an  ace  is  of  more  interest  to 
them  than  all  the  affairs  of  all  the  world  besides — and 
so  they  will  go  on  until  Death  summons  them,  and  their 
last  trump  is  played. 

It  is  curious  to  think  that  a  century  ago  almost  all 
gentlemen,  soldiers,  statesmen,  men  of  science,  and  di- 
vines, passed  hours  at  play  every  day ;  as  our  grand- 
mothers did  likewise.  The  poor  old  kings  and  queens 
must  feel  the  desertion  now,  and  deplore  the  present 
small  number  of  their  worshippers,  as  compared  to  the 
myriads  of  faithful  subjects  who  served  them  in  past 
times. 

I  do  not  say  that  other  folks'  pursuits  are  much  more 
or  less  futile ;  but  fancy  a  life  such  as  that  of  the  Colonel 
— eight  or  nine  hours  of  sleep,  eight  of  trumps,  and  the 
rest  for  business,  reading,  exercise,  and  domestic  duty  or 
affection  (to  be  sure,  he's  most  likely  a  bachelor,  so  that 
the  latter  offices  do  not  occupy  him  much) — fancy  such 
a  life,  and  at  its  conclusion  at  the  age  of  seventy-five, 
the  worthy  gentleman  being  able  to  say,  I  have  spent 
twenty-five  years  of  my  existence  turning  up  trumps. 

With  Trumpington  matters  are  different.  Whist  is 
a  profession  with  him,  just  as  much  as  Law  is  yours. 
He  makes  the  deepest  study  of  it — he  makes  every  sacri- 


BROWN    THE    YOUNGER    AT    A    CLUB.  63 

fice  to  his  pursuit :  he  may  be  fond  of  wine  and  company, 
but  he  eschews  both,  to  keep  his  head  cool  and  play  his 
rubber.  He  is  a  man  of  very  good  parts,  and  was  once 
well-read,  as  you  see  by  his  conversation  when  he  is 
away  from  the  table,  but  he  gives  up  reading  for  play — 
and  knows  that  to  play  well  a  man  must  play  every 
day.  He  makes  three  or  four  hundred  a  year  by  his 
Whist,  and  well  he  may — with  his  brains,  and  half  his 
industry,  he  could  make  a  larger  income  at  any  other 
profession. 

In  a  game  with  these  two  gentlemen,  the  one  who 
has  been  actually  seated  at  that  card  table  for  a  term  as 
long  as  your  whole  life,  the  other  who  is  known  as  a 
consummate  practitioner,  do  you  think  it  is  likely  you 
will  come  off  a  winner  ?  The  state  of  your  fortune  is  your 
look-out,  not  theirs.  They  are  there  at  their  posts — like 
knights — ready  to  meet  all  comers.  If  you  choose  to 
engage  them,  sit  down.  They  will,  with  the  most  per- 
fect probity,  calmness,  and  elegance  of  manner,  win  and 
win  of  you  until  they  have  won  every  shilling  of  a  for- 
tune, when  they  will  make  you  a  bow,  and  wTish  you 
good  morning.  You  may  go  and  drown  yourself  after- 
wards— it  is  not  their  business.  Their  business  is  to  be 
present  in  that  room,  and  to  play  cards  with  you  or  any- 
body. When  you  are  done  with — Bon  jour.  My  dear 
Colonel,  let  me  introduce  you  to  a  new  member,  my 
nephew,  Mr.  Robert  Brown. 

The  other  two  men  at  the  table  are  the  Honourable 


64  mr.   brown's   LETTERS.  \ 

G.  Windgall,  and  Mr.  Chanter  :  perhaps  you  have 
not  heard  that  the  one  made  rather  a  queer  settlement 
at  the  last  Derby ;  and  the  other  has  just  issued  from  one 
of  her  Majesty's  establishments  in  St.  George's  Fields. 

Either  of  these  gentlemen  is  perfectly  affable,  good- 
natured,  and  easy  of  access — and  will  cut  you  for  half- 
crowns  if  you  like,  or  play  you  at  any  game  on  the  cards. 
They  descend  from  their  broughams  or  from  horse- 
back at  the  club-door  with  the  most  splendid  air,  and 
they  feast  upon  the  best  dishes  and  wines  in  the  place. 

But  do  you  think  it  is  advisable  to  play  cards 
with  them?  Which  know  the  games  best — you  or 
they  ?  Which  is  most  likely — Ave  will  not  say  to  play 
foul — but  to  take  certain  little  advantages  in  the  game 
which  their  consummate  experience  teaches  them — you 
or  they  ?  Finally,  is  it  a  matter  of  perfect  certainty,  if 
you  won,  that  they  would  pay  you  ? 

Let  us  leave  these  gentlemen,  my  dear  Bob,  and  go 
through  the  rest  of  the  house. 

II. 

From  the  library  we  proceed  to  the  carved  and  gilded 
drawing-room  of  the  club,  the  damask  hangings  of 
which  are  embroidered  with  our  lovely  emblem,  the 
Polyanthus,  and  which  is  fitted  with  a  perfectly  unin- 
telligible splendour.  Sardanapalus,  if  he  had  pawned 
one  of  his  kingdoms,  could  not  have  had  such 
mirrors  as  one  of  those  in  which  1  see  my  dear  Bob 


BROWN  THE  YOUNGER  AT  A  CLUB.         65 


admiring  the  tie  of  his  cravat  with  such  complacency, 
and  I  am  sure  I  cannot  comprehend  why  Smith  and 
Brown  should  have  their  persons  reflected  in  such  vast 
sheets  of  quicksilver ;  or  why,  if  we  have  a  mind  to  a 
sixpenny  cup  of  tea  and  muffins,  when  we  come  in  with 
muddy  boots  from  a  dirty  walk,  those  refreshments 
should  be  served  to  us  as  we  occupy  a  sofa  much  more 
splendid,  and  far  better  stuffed,  than  any  Louis  Qua- 
torze  ever  sate  upon.  I  want  a  sofa,  as  I  want  a 
friend,  upon  which  I  can  repose,  familiarly.  If  you 
can't  have  intimate  terms  and  freedom  with  one  and 
the  other,  they  are  of  no  good.  A  full-dress  Club,  is 
an  absurdity — and  no  man  ought  to  come  into  this 
room  except  in  a  uniform  or  court  suit.  I  daren't 
put  my  feet  on  yonder  sofa  for  fear  of  sullying  the 
damask,  or,  worse  still,  for  fear  that  Hicks  the  Com- 
mittee-man should  pass,  and  spy  out  my  sacrilegious 
boots  on  the  cushion. 

We  pass  through  these  double-doors,  and  enter 
rooms  of  a  very  different  character. 

By  the  faint  and  sickly  odour  pervading  this  apart- 
ment, by  the  opened  windows,  by  the  circular  stains 
upon  the  marble  tables,  which  indicate  the  presence  of 
brandies-and-waters  long  passed  into  the  world  of 
Spirits,  my  dear  Bob  will  have  no  difficulty  in  recognis- 
ing the  smoking-room,  where  I  dare  say  he  will  pass  a 
good  deal  of  his  valuable  time  henceforth. 

If  I  could  recommend  a  sure  way  of  advancement 


66  mr.  brown's  letters. 


and  profit  to  a  young  man  about  town,  it  would  be, 
after  lie  has  come  away  from  a  friend's  house  and  din- 
ner, where  he  has  to  a  surety  had  more  than  enough  of 
claret  and  good  things,  when  he  ought  to  be  going  to 
bed  at  midnight,  so  that  he  might  rise  fresh  and  early 
for  his  morning's  work,  to  stop,  nevertheless,  for  a  cou- 
ple of  hours  at  the  Club,  and  smoke  in  this  room  and 
tipple  weak  brandy-and-water. 

By  a  perseverance  in  this  system,  you  may  get  a 
number  of  advantages.  By  sitting  up  till  3  of  a  sum- 
mer morning,  you  have  the  advantage  of  seeing  the  sun 
rise,  and  as  you  walk  home  to  Pump  Court,  can  mark  the 
quiet  of  the  streets  in  the  rosy  glimmer  of  the  dawn. 
You  can  easily  spend  in  that  smoking-room  (as  for  the 
billiard-room  adjacent,  how  much  more  can't  you  get  rid 
of  there),  and  without  any  inconvenience  or  extrava- 
gance whatever,  enough  money  to  keep  you  a  horse. 
Three  or  four  cigars  when  you  are  in  the  Club,  your 
case  filled  when  you  are  going  away,  a  couple  of  glasses 
of  very  weak  Cognac  and  cold  water,  will  cost  you 
sixty  pounds  a-year,  as  sure  as  your  name  is  Bob 
Brown.  And  as  for  the  smoking  and  tippling,  phis 
billiards,  they  may  be  made  to  cost  anything. 

And  then  you  have  the  advantage  of  hearing  such 
delightful  and  instructive  conversation  in  a  Club  smok- 
ing-room, between  the  hours  of  12  and  3  !  Men  who 
frequent  that  place  at  that  hour  are  commonly  men  of 
studious  habits  and  philosophical  and  reflective  minds, 


BROWN    THE    YOUNGER    AT    A    CLUB.  t>7 


to  whose  opinions  it  is  pleasant  and  profitable  to  listen. 
They  are  full  of  anecdotes,  which  are  always  moral  and 
well-chosen ;  their  talk  is  never  free,  or  on  light  sub- 
jects. I  have  one  or  two  old  smoking-room  pillars  in 
my  eye  now,  who  would  be  perfect  models  for  any 
young  gentleman  entering  life,  and  to  whom  a  father 
could  not  do  better  than  intrust  the  education  of  his 
son. 

To  drop  the  satirical  vein,  my  dear  Bob,  I  am  com- 
pelled as  a  man  to  say  my  opinion,  that  the  best  thing 
you  can  do  with  regard  to  that  smoking-room  is  to 
keep  out  of  it ;  or  at  any  rate  never  to  be  seen  in  the 
place  after  midnight.  They  are  very  pleasant  and 
frank,  those  jolly  fellows,  those  loose  fishes,  those  fast 
young  men — but  the  race  in  life  is  not  to  such  fast  men 
as  these — and  you  who  want  to  win  must  get  up  early 
of  a  morning,  my  boy.  You  and  an  old  college-chum 
or  two  may  sit  together  over  your  cigar-boxes  in  one 
another's  chambers,  and  talk  till  all  hours,  and  do 
yourselves  good  probably.  Talking  among  you  is  a 
wholesome  exercitation ;  humour  comes  in  an  easy 
flow ;  it  doesn't  preclude  grave  argument  and  manlv 
interchange  of  thought — I  owrn  myself,  when  I  was 
younger,  to  have  smoked  many  a  pipe  with  advantage 
in  the  company  of  Doctor  Parr.  Honest  men,  with 
pipes  or  cigars  in  their  mouths,  have  great  physical 
advantages  in  conversation.  You  may  stop  talking  if 
you  like — but  the  breaks  of  silence  never  seem  disa- 


68  mr.  brown's  letters, 

greeable,  being  rilled  up  by  the  puffing  of  the  smoke — 
hence  there  is  no  awkwardness  in  resuming  the  conver- 
sation— no  straining  for  effect — sentiments  are  deliver- 
ed in  a  grave  easy  manner — the  cigar  harmonises  the 
society,  and  soothes  at  once  the  speaker  and  the  sub- 
ject whereon  he  converses.  I  have  no  doubt  that  it  is 
from  the  habit  of  smoking  that  Turks  and  American 
Indians  are  such  monstrous  well-bred  men.  The  pipe 
draws  wisdom  from  the  lips  of  the  philosopher,  and 
shuts  up  the  mouth  of  the  foolish :  it  generates  a  style 
of  conversation,  contemplative,  thoughtful,  benevolent, 
and  unaffected :  in  fact,  dear  Bob,  I  must  out  with  it — 
I  am  an  old  smoker.  At  home  I  have  done  it  up  the 
chimney  rather  than  not  do  it  (the  which  I  own  is  a 
crime).  I  vow  and  believe  that  the  cigar  has  been  one 
of  the  greatest  creature-comforts  of  my  life — a  kind 
companion,  a  gentle  stimulant,  an  amiable  anodyne,  a 
cementer  of  friendship.  May  I  die  if  I  abuse  that 
kindly  weed  which  has  given  me  so  much  pleasure ! 

Since  I  have  been  a  member  of  that  Club,  what  num- 
bers of  men  have  occupied  this  room  and  departed  from 
it,  like  so  many  smoked-out  cigars,  leaving  nothing 
behind  but  a  little  disregarded  ashes !  Bob,  my  boy, 
they  drop  off  in  the  course  of  twenty  years,  our  boon 
companions,  and  jolly  fellow  bottle-crackers. — I  mind  me 
of  many  a  good  fellow  who  has  talked  and  laughed  here, 
and  whose  pipe  is  put  out  for  ever.  Men,  I  remember 
as  dashing  youngsters  but  the  other  day,  have  passed 


BROWN  THE  rOUNGER  AT  A  CLUB.        61) 

into  the  state  of  old  fogies :  they  have  sons,  Sir,  of 
almost  our  age,  when  first  we  joined  the  Polyanthus. 
Grass  grows  over  others  in  all  parts  of  the  world. 
Where  is  poor  Ned  ?  Where  is  poor  Fred  ?  Dead 
rhymes  with  Ned  and  Fred  too — their  place  known 
them  not — their  names  one  year  appeared  at  the  end  of 
the  Club  list,  under  that  dismal  category  of  "  Members 
Deceased,"  in  which  you  and  I  shall  rank  some  day. 
Do  you  keep  that  subject  steadily  in  your  mind  ?  I  do 
not  see  why  one  shouldn't  meditate  upon  Death  in  Pall 
Mall  as  well  as  in  a  howling  wilderness.  There  is 
enough  to  remind  one  of  it  at  every  corner.  There  is  a 
strange  face  looking  out  of  Jack's  old  lodgings  in 
Jermyn  Street, — somebody  else  has  got  the  Club  chair 
which  Tom  used  to  occupy.  He  doesn't  dine  here  and 
grumble  as  he  used  formerly.  He  has  been  sent  for, 
and  has  not  come  back  again — one  day  Fate  will  send 
for  us,  and  we  shall  not  return — and  the  people  will 
come  down  to  the  Club  as  usual,  saying,  "  Well,  and  so 
poor  old  Brown's  gone." — Indeed,  a  smoking-room  on 
a  morning  is  not  a  cheerful  spot. 

Our  room  has  a  series  of  tenants  of  quite  distinct 
characters.  After  an  early  and  sober  dinner  below, 
certain  habitues  of  the  Polyanthus  mount  up  to  this  apart- 
ment for  their  coffee  and  cigar,  and  talk  as  gravely  as 
Sachems  at  a  Palaver.  Trade  and  travel,  politics  and 
geography,  are  their  discourse — they  are  in  bed  long 
before  their  successors   the  jolly  fellows  begin   their 


70  mr.  brown's  letters. 


night  life,  and  the  talk  of  the  one  set  is  as  different  to 
the  conversation  of  the  other,  as  any  talk  can  be. 

After  the  grave  old  Sachems,  come  other  frequenters 
of  the  room ;  a  squad  of  sporting  men  very  likely — 
very  solemn  and  silent  personages  these — who  give  the 
odds,  and  talk  about  the  cup  in  a  darkling  under  tone. 
Then  you  shall  have  three  or  four  barristers  with  high 
voices,  seldom  able  to  sit  long  without  talking  of  their 
profession,  or  mentioning  something  about  Westminster 
Hall.  About  eleven,  men  in  white  neckcloths  drop  in 
from  dinner-parties,  and  show  their  lacquered  boots  and 
shirt-studs  with  a  little  complacency — and  at  midnight, 
after  the  theatres,  the  young  rakes  and  viveurs  come 
swaggering  in,  and  call  loudly  for  gin-twist. 

But  as  for  a  club  smoking-room  after  midnight,  I  vow 
again  that  you  are  better  out  of  it :  that  you  will  waste 
money  and  your  precious  hours  and  health  there  ;  and  you 
may  frequent  this  Polyanthus  room  for  a  year,  and  not  car- 
ry away  from  the  place  one  single  idea  or  story  that  can 
do  you  the  least  good  in  life.  How  much  you  shall  take 
away  of  another  sort,  I  do  not  here  set  down ;  but  I 
have  before  my  mind's  eye  the  image  of  Old  Silenus 
with  purple  face  and  chalk-stone  fingers,  telling  his  foul 
old  garrison  legends  over  his  gin-and-water.  He  is  ir 
the  smoking-room  every  night ;  and  I  feel  that  no  mar 
can  get  benefit  from  the  society  of  that  old  man. 

What  society  he  has  he  gets  from  this  place.  He 
sits  for  hours  in  a  corner  of  the  sofa,  and  makes  up  his 


BROWN  THE  YOUNGER  AT  A  CLUB.         71 


parties  here.  He  will  ask  you  after  a  little  time,  seeing 
that  you'  are  a  gentleman  and  have  a  good  address,  and 
will  give  you  an  exceedingly  good  dinner.  I  went 
once,  years  ago,  to  a  banquet  of  his — and  found  all  the 
men  at  his  table  were  Polyanthuses :  so  that  it  was  a 

house  dinner  in Square,  with  Mrs.  Silenus  at 

the  head  of  the  table. 

After  dinner  she  retired  and  was  no  more  seen,  and 
Silenus  amused  himself  by  making  poor  Mr.  Tippleton 
drunk.  He  came  to  the  Club  the  next  day,  he  amused 
himself  by  describing  the  arts  by  which  he  had  practis- 
ed upon  the  easy  brains  of  poor  Mr.  Tippleton — (as  if 
that  poor  fellow  wanted  any  arts  or  persuasion  to  induce 
him  to  intoxicate  himself),  and  told  all  the  smoking- 
room,  how  he  had  given  a  dinner,  how  many  bottles 
of  wine  had  been  emptied,  and  how  many  Tippleton 
had  drunk  for  his  share.  "  I  kept  my  eye  on  Tip,  Sir," 
the  horrid  old  fellow  said — "  I  took  care  to  make  him 
mix  his  liquors  well,  and  before  11  o'clock  I  finished 
him  and  had  him  as  drunk  as  a  lord,  Sir !"  Will  you 
like  to  have  that  gentleman  for  a  friend  ?  He  has 
elected  himself  our  smoking-room  king  at  the  Polyan- 
thus, and  midnight  monarch. 

As  he  talks,  in  comes  poor  Tippleton — a  kind  soul 
— a  gentleman — a  man  of  reading  and  parts — who  has 
friends  at  home  very  likely,  and  had  once  a  careei 
before  him — and  what  is  he  now?  His  eyes  are 
vacant ;  he  reels  into  a  sofa  corner,  and  sits  in  maudlin 


72  mr.  brown's  letters. 

silence,  and  hiccups  every  now  and  then.  Old  Silenus 
winks  knowingly  round  at  the  whole  smoking-room : 
most  of  the  men  sneer — some  pity — some  very  young 
cubs  laugh  and  jeer  at  him.     Tippleton's  drunk. 

in. 

From  the  Library  and  Smoking-room  regions  let  us 
descend  to  the  lower  floor.  Here  you  behold  the 
Coffee-room,  where  the  neat  little  tables  are  already  laid 
out,  awaiting  the  influx  of  diners. 

A  great  advance  in  civilisation  was  made,  and  the 
honesty  as  well  as  economy  of  young  men  of  the  middle 
classes  immensely  promoted,  when  the  ancient  tavern 
system  was  overthrown,  and  those  houses  of  meeting 
instituted  where  a  man,  without  sacrificing  his  dignity, 
could  dine  for  a  couple  of  shillings.  I  remember  in  the 
days  of  my  youth  when  a  very  moderate  dinner  at  a 
reputable  coffee-house  cost  a  man  half-a-guinea :  when 
you  were  obliged  to  order  a  pint  of  wine  for  the  good 
of  the  house ;  when  the  waiter  got  a  shilling  for  his 
attendance ;  and  when  young  gentlemen  were  no  richer 
than  they  are  now,  and  had  to  pay  thrice  as  much  as 
they  at  present  need  to  disburse  for  the  maintenance  of 
their  station. 

Then  men  (who  had  not  the  half  guinea  at  command,) 
used  to  dive  into  dark  streets  in  the  vicinage  of  Soho  or 
Covent  Garden,  and  get  a  meagre  meal  at  shilling 
taverns — or  Tom,  the  clerk,  issued  out  from  your  Cham- 


BROWN  THE  LOUNGER  AT  A  CLUB.         73 


bers  in  Pump  Court  and  brought  back  your  dinner 
between  two  plates  from  a  neighbouring  ham  and  beef 
shop.  Either  repast  was  strictly  honourable,  and  one 
can  find  no  earthly  fault  with  a  poor  gentleman,  for 
eating  a  poor  meal.  But  that  solitary  meal  in  Cham- 
bers was  indeed  a  dismal  refection.  I  think  with  any- 
thing but  regret  of  those  lonely  feasts  of  beef  and  cab- 
bage ;  and  how  there  was  no  resource  for  the  long  even- 
ings but  those  books,  over  which  you  had  been  poring 
all  day,  or  the  tavern  with  its  deuced  expenses,  or  the 
theatre — a  young  bachelor's  life  was  a  clumsy  piece  of 
wretchedness  then— mismanaged  and  ill  economised — 
just  as  your  Temple  Chambers  or  College  rooms  now 
are,  which  are  quite  behind  the  age,  in  the  decent  con- 
veniences which  every  modern  tenement  possesses. 

And  that  dining  for  a  shilling  and  strutting  about 
Pall  Mall  afterwards  was,  after  all,  an  hypocrisy.  At 
the  time  when  the  Trois  Freres  Provenqaux  at  Paris 
had  two  entrances,  one  into  the  place  of  the  Palais 
Eoyal,  and  one  into  the  street  behind,  where  the  sixteen 
sous  dinner-houses  are,  I  have  seen  bucks  with  profuse 
toothpicks  walk  out  of  these  latter  houses  of  entertain- 
ment, pass  up  the  Trois  Freres  stair,  and  descend  from 
the  other  door  into  the  Palais  Royal,  so  that  the  people 
walking  there  might  fancy  these  poor  fellows  had  been 
dining  regardless  of  expense.  No ;  what  you  call  put- 
ting a  good  face  upon  poverty,  that  is,  hiding  it  under 
a  grin,  or  concealing  its  rags  under  a  make-shift,  is 

4 


74  mr.  brown's  letters. 

always  rather  a  base  stratagem.  Your  Beaux  Tibbs's 
and  twopenny  dandies  can  never  be  respectable  alto- 
gether :  and  if  a  man  is  poor,  I  say  he  ought  to  seem 
poor ;  and  that  both  he  and  Society  are  in  the  wrong, 
if  either  sees  any  cause  of  shame  in  poverty. 

That  is  why  I  say  we  ought  to  be  thankful  for  Clubs. 
Here  is  no  skulking  to  get  a  cheap  dinner  :  no  ordering 
of  expensive  liquors  and  dishes  for  the  good  of  the 
house,  or  cowering  sensitiveness  as  to  the  opinion  of  the 
waiter.  We  advance  in  simplicity  and  honesty  as  we 
advance  in  civilisation,  and  it  is  my  belief  that  we  be- 
come better  bred  and  less  artificial,  and  tell  more  truth 
every  day. 

This  you  see  is  the  Club  Coffee-room — it  is  three 
o'clock,  young  Wideawake  is  just  finishing  his  break- 
fast (with  whom  I  have  nothing  to  do  at  present,  but  to 
say  parenthetically,  that  if  you  will  sit  up  till  five  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  Bob,  my  boy,  you  may  look  out  to  have 
a  headache  and  a  breakfast  at  three  in  the  afternoon). 
Wideawake  is  at  breakfast — Goldsworthy  is  ordering 
his  dinner — while  Mr.  Nudgit,  whom  you  see  yonder, 
is  making  his  lunch.  In  those  two  gentlemen  is  the 
moral  and  exemplification  of  the  previous  little  remarks 
which  I  have  been  making. 

You  must  know,  Sir,  that  at  the  Polyanthus,  in  com- 
mon with  most  Clubs,  gentlemen  are  allowed  to  enjoy, 
gratis,  in  the  Coffee-room,  bread,  beer,  sauces,  and 
pickles. 


BROWN    THE    YOUNGER    AT    A    CLUB.  *75 

After  four  o'clock,  if  you  order  your  dinner,  you 
have  to  pay  sixpence  for  what  is  called  the  table — the 
clean  cloth,  the  vegetables,  cheese,  and  so  forth :  before 
that  hour  you  may  have  lunch,  when  there  is  no  table 
charge. 

Now,  Goldsworthy  is  a  gentleman  and  a  man  of 
genius,  who  has  courage  and  simplicity  enough  to  be 
poor — not  like  some  fellows  whom  one  meets,  and  who 
make  a  fanfaronnade  of  poverty,  and  draping  them- 
selves in  their  rags,  seem  to  cry,  "  See  how  virtuous  I 
am, — how  honest  Diogenes  is  !"  but  he  is  a  very  poor 
man,  whose  education  and  talents  are  of  the  best,  and 
who  in  so  far  claims  to  rank  with  the  very  best  people 
in  the  world.  In  his  place  in  Parliament,  when  he  takes 
off  his  hat  (which  is  both  old  and  well  brushed),  the 
Speaker's  eye  is  pretty  sure  to  meet  his,  and  the  House 
listens  to  him  with  the  respect  which  is  due  to  so  much 
honesty  and  talent.  He  is  the  equal  of  any  man,  how- 
ever lofty  or  wealthy.  His  social  position  is  rather  im- 
proved by  his  poverty,  and  the  world,  which  is  a  manly 
and  generous  world  in  its  impulses,  hoAvever  it  may  be 
in  its  practice,  contemplates  with  a  sincere  regard  and 
admiration  Mr.  Goldsworthy's  manner  of  bearing  his 
lack  of  fortune.  He  is  going  to  dine  for  a  shilling ;  he 
will  have  two  mutton  chops  (and  the  mutton  chop  is  a 
thing  unknown  in  domestic  life  and  in  the  palaces  of 
epicures,  where  you  may  get  cutlets  dressed  with  all 
sorts  of  French  sauces,  but  not  the  admirable  mutton 


*76  mr.  brown's  letters. 


chop),  and  with  a  due  allowance  of  the  Club  bread  and 
beer,  he  will  make  a  perfectly  wholesome,  and  sufficient, 
and  excellent  meal ;  and  go  down  to  the  House  and  fire 
into  Ministers  this  very  night. 

Now,  I  say,  this  man  dining  for  a  shilling  is  a  plea- 
sant spectacle  to  behold.  I  respect  Mr.  Goldsworthy 
with  all  my  heart,  without  sharing  those  ultra-conserva- 
tive political  opinions,  which  we  all  know  he  entertains, 
and  from  which  no  interest,  temptation,  or  hope  of 
place  will  cause  him  to  swerve  ;  and  you  see  he  is 
waited  upon  with  as  much  respect  here,  as  old  Silenus, 
though  he  order  the  most  sumptuous  banquet  the  cook 
can  devise,  or  bully  the  waiters  ever  so. 

But  ah,  Bob  !  what  can  we  say  of  the  conduct  of 
that  poor  little  Mr.  Nudgit  ?  He  has  a  bed-chamber 
in  some  court  unknown  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the 
Polyanthus.  He  makes  a  breakfast  with  the  Club  bread 
and  beer  :  he  lunches  off  the  same  supplies — and  being 
of  an  Epicurean  taste,  look  what  he  does — he  is  actually 
pouring  a  cruet  of  anchovy  sauce  over  his  bread  to  give 
it  a  flavour ;  and  I  have  seen  the  unconscionable  little 
gourmand  sidle  off  to  the  pickle  jars  when  he  thought 
nobody  was  observing,  and  pop  a  walnut  or  half  a 
dozen  of  pickled  onions  into  his  mouth,  and  swallow 
them  with  a  hideous  furtive  relish. 

He  disappears  at  dinner  time,  and  returns  at  half-past 
seven  or  eight  o'clock,  and  wanders  round  the  tables 
when  the  men  are  at  their  dessert  and  generous  over 


BROWN    THE    YOUNGER    AT    A    CLUB.  77 

their  wine.  He  lias  a  number  of  little  stories  about 
the  fashionable  world  to  tell,  and  is  not  unentertaining. 
When  you  dine  here,  sometimes  give  Nudgit  a  glass  or 
two  out  of  your  decanter,  Bob,  my  boy,  and  comfort  his 
poor  old  soul.  He  was  a  gentleman  once  and  had 
money,  as  he  will  be  sure  to  tell  you.  He  is  mean  and 
feeble,  but  not  unkind — a  poor  little  parasite  not 
to  be  un pitied.  Mr.  Xudgit,  allow  me  to  introduce 
you  to  a  new  member,  my  nephew,  Mr.  Robert 
Brown. 

At  this  minute  old  Silenus  swaggers  in,  bearing  his 
great  waistcoat  before  him,  and  walking  up  to  the  desk 
where  the  coffee-room  clerk  sits  and  where  the  bills  of 
fare  are  displayed.  As  he  passes  he  has  to  undergo  the 
tire  of  Mr.  Goldsworthy's  eyes,  which  dart  out  at  him 
two  flashes  of  the  most  killing  scorn.  He  has  passed  by 
the  batterv  without  sinking,  and  lavs  himself  alono-side 
the  desk.  jSYdgit  watches  him,  and  will  presently  go 
up  smirking  humbly  to  join  him. 

"Hunt,"  he  says,  "I  want  a  table,  my  table,  you 
know,  at  seven — dinner  for  eight — Lord  Hobanob 
•  lines  with  me — send  the  butler — What's  in  the  bill  of 
fare  ?  Let's  have  clear  soup  and  turtle — I  've  sent  it  in 
from  the  city — dressed  fish  and  turbot,"  and  with  a 
swollen  trembling  hand  he  writes  down  a  pompous  bill 
of  fare. 

As  I  said,  Xudgit  comes  up  simpering,  with  a  news- 
paper in  his  hand. 


78  MR.    BROWN'S    LEITERS. 


"  Hullo,  Nudg  !"  says  Mr.  Silenus,  "  how's  the  beer ! 
Pickles  good  to-day  ?" 

Nudgit  smiles  in  a  gentle  deprecatory  manner. 

"  Smell  out  a  good  dinner,  hey,  Nudg  ?"  says 
Dives. 

"  If  any  man  knows  how  to  give  one,  you  do,"  an- 
swers the  poor  beggar.  "  I  wasn't  a  bad  hand  at  order- 
ing a  dinner  myself,  once ;  what's  the  fish  in  the  list 
to-day  ?"  and  with  a  weak  smile  he  casts  his  eye  over 
the  bill  of  fare. 

"  Lord  Hobanob  dines  with  me,  and  he  knows  what  a 
good  dinner  is,  I  can  tell  you,"  says  Mr.  Silenus,  "  so 
does  Cramley." 

"Both  well-known  epicures,"  says  Nudgit. 

"  I'm  going  to  give  Hobanob  a  return  dinner  to  his 
at  the  Rhododendrum.  He  bet  me  that  Batifol,  the 
chef  at  the  Rhododendrum,  did  better  than  our  man 
can.  Hob's  dinner  was  last  Wednesday,  and  I  don't 
say  it  wasn't  a  good  one  ;  or  that  taking  Grosbois  by 
surprise,  is  giving  him  quite  fair  play — but  we'll  see, 
Nudgit.     /  know  what  Grosbois  can  do." 

"  I  should  think  you  did,  indeed,  Silenus,"  says  the 
other. 

"  I  see  your  mouth's  watering.  I'd  ask  you,  only  I 
know  you're  engaged.  You're  always  engaged,  Nud- 
git— Not  to-day  ?  Well  then,  you  may  come  ;  and  I 
say,  Mr.  Nudgit,  we'll  have  a  wet  evening,  Sir,  mind 
you  that." 


BROWN    THE    YOUNGER    AT    A    CLUB.  79 

Mr.  Bowls,  the  butler,  here  coming  in,  Mr.  Silenus 
falls  into  conversation  with  him  about  wines  and  icing. 
I  am  glad  poor  Nudgit  has  got  his  dinner.  He  will  go 
and  walk  in  the  Park  to  get  up  an  appetite.  And  now, 
Mr.  Bob,  having  shown  you  over  your  new  house,  I  too 
will  bid  vou  for  the  present  farewell. 


80  mr.  brown's  letters. 


A  WORD  ABOUT  BALLS  IN  SEASON. 


When  my  good  friend,  Mr.  Punch,  some  time  since, 
asked  me  to  compile  a  series  of  conversations  for  young 
men  in  the  dancing  world,  so  that  they  might  be  agree- 
able to  their  partners,  and  advance  their  own  success  in 
life,  I  consented  with  a  willing  heart  to  my  venerable 
friend's  request,  for  I  desire  nothing  better  than  to  pro- 
mote the  amusement  and  happiness  of  all  young  people ; 
and  nothing,  I  thought,  would  be  easier  than  to  touch 
off  a  few  light,  airy,  graceful  little  sets  of  phrases,  which 
young  fellows  might  adopt  or  expand,  according  to 
their  own  ingenuity  and  leisure. 

Well,  Sir,  I  imagined  myself,  just  for  an  instant,  to 
be  young  again,  and  that  I  had  a  neat  waist  instead  of 
that  bow-window  with  which  Time  and  Nature  have 
ornamented  the  castle  of  my  body,  and  brown  locks 
instead  of  a  bald  pate  (there  was  a  time,  Sir,  when  my 
hair  was  not  considered  the  worst  part  of  me,  and  I 
recollect  when  I  was  a  young  ma*n  in  the  Militia,  and 
when  pig-tails  finally  went  out  in  our  corps,  who  it  was 
that  longed  to  have  my  queue — it    was  found  in  her 


A    WORD    ABOUT    BALLS    IN    SEASON.  81 


desk  at  her  death,  and  my  poor  dear  wife  was  always 
jealous  of  her), — I  just  choose,  I  say,  to  fancy  myself  a 
young  man,  and  that  I  would  go  up  in  imagination  and 
ask  a  girl  to  dance  with  me.  So  I  chose  Maria — a 
man  might  go  farther  and  fare  worse  than  choose 
Maria,  Mr.  Bob. 

"  My  dear  Miss  K,"  says  I,  "  may  I  have  the  honour 
of  dancing  the  next  set  with  you  ?" 

"  The  next  what  ?"  says  Miss  E.,  smiling,  and  turning 
to  Mrs.  E.,  as  if  to  ask  what  a  set  meant. 

"  I  forgot,"  says  I ;  "  the  next  quadrille,  I  would  say." 

"  It  is  rather  slow  dancing,  quadrilles,"  says  Miss  E.; 
"  but  if  I  must,  I  must." 

"  Well,  then,  a  waltz,  will  that  do  ?  I  know  nothing 
prettier  than  a  waltz  played  not  too  quick." 

"  What !"  says  she,  "  do  you  want  a  horrid  old  three- 
timed  waltz,  like  that  which  the  little  figures  dance 
upon  the  barrel-organs  ?  You  silly  old  creature :  you 
are  good-natured,  but  you  are  in  your  dotage.  All 
these  dances  are  passed  away.  You  might  as  well  ask 
me  to  wear  a  gown  with  a  waist  up  to  my  shoulders,  v 
like  that  in  which  mamma  was  married  ;  or  a  hoop  and 
high  heels,  like  grandmamma,  in  the  picture  ;  or  to 
dance  a  gavotte  or  a  minuet.  Things  are  changed,  old 
gentleman — the  fashions  of  your  time  are  gone,  and — 
and  the  bucks  of  your  time  will  go  too,  Mr.  Brown.  If 
I  want  to  dance,  here  is  Captain  Whiskerfield,  who 
is  ready ;  or  young  Studdington,  who  is  a  delightful 

4* 


82  mr.  brown's  letters. 

partner.  He  brings  a  little  animation  into  our  balls ; 
and  when  he  is  not  in  society,  dances  every  night  at 
Vauxhall  and  the  Casino." 

I  pictured  to  myself  Maria  giving  some  such  reply 
to  my  equally  imaginative  demand — for  of  course  I 
never  made  the  request,  any  more  than  she  did  the 
answer — and,  in  fact,  dear  Bob,  after  turning  over  the 
matter  of  ball-room  conversations  in  my  mind,  and 
sitting  with  pen  and  ink  before  me  for  a  couple  of 
hours,  I  found  that  I  had  nothing  at  all  to  say  on  the 
subject,  and  have  no  more  right  to  teach  a  youth  what 
he  is  to  say  in  the  present  day  to  his  partner,  than  I 
should  have  had  in  my  own  boyhood  to  instruct  my  own 
grandmother  in  the  art  of  sucking  eggs.  We  should 
pay  as  much  reverence  to  youth  as  we  should  to  age ; 
there  are  points  in  which  you  young  folks  are  altogether 
our  superiors  :  and  I  can't  help  constantly  crying  out  to 
persons  of  my  own  years,  when  busied  about  their  young 
people — leave  them  alone ;  don't  be  always  meddling 
with  their  affairs,  which  they  can  manage  for  them- 
selves ;  don't  be  always  insisting  upon  managing  their 
boats,  and  putting  your  oars  in  the  water  with  theirs. 

So  I  have  the  modesty  to  think  that  Mr.  Punch  and 
I  were  a  pair  of  conceited  old  fogies,  in  devising  the 
above  plan  of  composing  conversation  for  the  benefit  of 
youth,  and  that  young  folks  can  manage  to  talk  of 
what  interests  them,  without  any  prompting  on  our 
part.     To  say  the  truth,  I  have  hardly  been  to  a  ball 


A  WORD  ABOUT  BALLS  IN  SEASON.        83 

these  three  years.     I  saw  the  head  of  the  stair  at  H.  E.'s 

the  T Ambassador  in  Br ne  Square,  the  othei 

night,  but  retired  without  even  getting  a  sight  of,  or 
making  my  bow  to  Her  Excellency  ;  thinking  wisely 
that  mon  lait  de  poule,  et  mon  bonnet  de  nuit,  much 
better  became  me  at  that  hour  of  midnight,  than  the 
draught  in  a  crowded  passage,  and  the  sight  of  ever  so 
many  beauties. 

But  though  I  don't  go  myself  to  these  assemblies,  I 
have  intelligences  amongst  people  who  go  :  and  hear 
from  the  girls  and  their  mammas,  what  they  do,  and  how 
they  enjoy  themselves.  I  must  own  that  some  of  the 
new  arrangements  please  me  very  much  as  being  natural 
and  simple,  and,  in  so  far,  superior  to  the  old  mode. 

In  my  time,  for  instance,  a  ball-room  used  to  be  more 
than  half-filled  with  old  male  and  female  fogies,  whose 
persons  took  up  a  great  deal  of  valuable  room,  who  did 
not  in  the  least  ornament  the  walls  against  which  they 
stood,  and  who  would  have  been  much  better  at  home 
in  bed.  In  a  great  country-house  where  you  have  a 
hall  fire-place  in  which  an  ox  might  be  roasted  con- 
veniently, the  presence  of  a  few  score  more  or  less  of 
stout  old  folks  can  make  no  difference  ;  there  is  room 
for  them  at  the  card-tables,  and  round  the  supper-board, 
and  the  sight  of  their  honest  red  faces  and  white  waist- 
coats lining  the  wall  cheers  and  illuminates  the  Assem- 
bly Room. 

But  it  is  a  very  different  case  when  you  have  a  small 


84  mr.  brown's  letters. 

house  in  Mayfair,  or  in  the  pleasant  district  of  Pimlico 
and  Tyburn ;  and  accordingly  I  am  happy  to  hear  that 
the  custom  is  rapidly  spreading  of  asking  none  but 
dancing  people  to  balls.  It  was  only  this  morning  that 
I  was  arguing  the  point  with  our  cousin  Mrs.  Crowder, 
who  was  greatly  irate  because  her  daughter  Fanny  had 
received  an  invitation  to  go  with  her  aunt,  Mrs.  Timmins, 
to  Lady  Tutbury's  ball,  whereas  poor  Mrs.  Crowder 
had  been  told  that  she  could  on  no  account  get  a  card 

Now  Blanche  Crowder  is  a  very  large  woman  natu- 
rally, and  with  the  present  fashion  of  flounces  in  dress, 
this  balloon  of  a  creature  would  occupy  the  best  part  of 
a  back  drawing-room  ;  whereas  Rosa  Timmins  is  a  little 
bit  of  a  thing,  who  takes  up  no  space  at  all,  and  indeed 
furnishes  the  side  of  a  room  as  prettily  as  a  bank  of 
flowers  could.  I  tried  to  convince  our  cousin  upon  this 
point,  this  embonpoint,  I  may  say,  and  of  course  being 
too  polite  to  make  remarks  personal  to  Mrs.  Crowder, 
I  playfully  directed  them  elsewhere. 

"  Dear  Blanche,"  said  I,  "  don't  you  see  how  greatly 
Lady  Tutbury  would  have  to  extend  her  premises  if  all  the 
relatives  of  all  her  dancers  were  to  be  invited  ?  She  has 
already  flung  out  a  marquee  over  the  leads,  and  actually 
included  the  cistern — what  can  she  do  more  ?  If  all  the 
girls  were  to  have  chaperons,  where  could  the  elders  sit  ? 
Tutbury  himself  will  not  be  present.  He  is  a  large  and 
roomy  man  like  your  humble  servant,  and  Lady  Tut  has 
sent  him  off  to  Greenwich,  or  the  Star  and  Garter  for 


A    WORD    ABOUT    BALLS    IN    SEASON.  85 

the  night,  where,  I  have  no  doubt,  he  and  some  other 
stout  fellows  will  make  themselves  comfortable.     At  a 
ball  amongst  persons  of  moderate  means  and  large  ac- 
quaintance in  London,  room  is  much  more  precious  than 
almost  anybody's  company,  except  that  of  the  beauties 
and   the   dancers.     Look   at  Lord   Trampleton,  that 
enormous  hulking  monster   (who   nevertheless   dances 
beautifully,  as  all  big  men  do),  when  he  takes  out  his 
favorite  partner,  Miss  Wirledge,  to  polk,  his  arm,  as  he 
whisks  her  round  and  round,  forms  radii  of  a  circle  of 
very  considerable  diameter.     He  almost  wants  a  room 
to  himself.     Young  men  and  women  now,  when  they 
dance,  dance  really  ;  it  is  no  lazy  sauntering,  as  of  old, 
but  downright  hard  work — after  which  they  want  air 
and  refreshment.     How  can  they  get  the  one,  when  the 
rooms  are  filled  with  elderly  folks  ;  or  the  other,  when 
we  are  squeezing  round  the  supper-tables,  and  drinking 
up  all  the  available  Champagne  and  Seltzer  water  ?    No, 
no  ;  the  present  plan,  which  I  hear  is  becoming  general, 
is  admirable  for  London.     Let  there  be  a  half-dozen  of 
good,  active,  bright-eyed  chaperons  and  duennas,  little 
women,  who  are  more  active,  and  keep  a  better  look-out 
than  your  languishing  voluptuous  beauties"  (I  said  this, 
casting  at  the  same  time  a  look  of  peculiar  tenderness 
towards  Blanche  Crowder),  "let  them  keep  watch  and 
see  that  all  is  right — that  the  young  men  don't  dance 
too  often  with  the  same  girl,  or  disappear  on  to  the  bal- 
cony, and  that  sort  of  thing  ;  let  them  have  good  large 


86  mr.  brown's  letters. 

roomy  family  coaches  to  carry  the  young  women  home 
to  their  mammas.  In  a  word,  at  a  ball,  let  there  be  for 
the  future  no  admittance  except  upon  business.  In  all 
the  affairs  of  London  life,  that  is  the  rule,  depend  upon 
it," 

"  And  pray  who  told  you,  Mr.  Brown,  that  I  didn't 
wish  to  dance  myself?"  says  Blanche,  surveying  her 
great  person  in  the  looking-glass  (which  could  scarcely 
contain  it)  and  flouncing  out  of  the  room ;  and  I  ac- 
tually believe  that  the  unconscionable  creature,  at  her 
age  and  size,  is  still  thinking  that  she  is  a  fairy,  and  that 
the  young  fellows  would  like  to  dance  round  the  room 
with  her.  Ah,  Bob  !  I  remember  that  grotesque  wo- 
man a  slim  and  graceful  girl.  I  remember  others  ten- 
der and  beautiful,  whose  bright  eyes  glitter,  and  whose 
sweet  voices  whisper  no  more.  So  they  pass  away — 
youth  and  beauty,  love  and  innocence,  pass  away  and 
perish.  I  think  of  one  now,  whom  I  remember  the  fair- 
est and  the  gayest,  the  kindest  and  the  purest ;  her 
laughter  was  music — I  can  hear  it  still,  though  it  will 
never  echo  any  more.  Far  away,  the  silent  tomb  closes 
over  her.  Other  roses  than  those  of  our  prime,  grow 
up  and  bloom,  and  have  their  day.  Honest  youth, 
generous  youth,  may  yours  be  as  pure  and  as  fair. 

I  did  not  think  when  I  began  to  write  it,  that  the  last 
sentence  would  have  finished  so :  but  life  is  not  altogether 
jocular,  Mr.  Bob,  and  one  comes  upon  serious  thoughts 
suddenly  as  upon  a  funeral  in  the  street.     Let  us  go 


A    WORD    ABOUT    BALLS    IN    SEASON.  87 

back  to  the  business  we  are  upon,  namely  balls,  whereof 
it  perhaps  has  struck  you  that  your  uncle  has  very  little 
to  say. 

I  saw  one  announcement  in  the  morning;  fashionable 
print  to-day,  with  a  fine  list  of  some  of  the  greatest  folks 
in  London,  and  had  previously  heard  from  various  quar- 
ters how  eager  many  persons  were  to  attend  it,  and  how 
splendid  an  entertainment  it  was  to  be.  And  so  the 
morning  paper  announced  that  Mrs.  Hornby  Madox 
threw  open  her  house  in  So-and-So  Street,  and  was  as- 
sisted in  receiving  her  guests  by  Lady  Fugleman. 

Now  this  is  a  sort  of  entertainment  and  arrangement 
than  which  I  confess  I  can  conceive  nothing  more  queer, 
though  I  believe  it  is  by  no  means  uncommon  in  Eng- 
lish society.  Mrs.  Hornby  Madox  comes  into  her  for- 
tune of  ten  thousand  a-year — wishes  to  be  presented  in 
the  London  world,  having  lived  in  the  country  previous- 
ly— spares  no  expense  to  make  her  house  and  festival 
as  handsome  as  may  be,  and  gets  Lady  Fugleman  to 
ask  the  company  for  her — not  the  honest  Hornbys,  not 
the  family  Madoxes,  not  the  jolly  old  squires  and  friends 
and  relatives  of  her  family,  and  from  her  county  ;  but 
the  London  dandies  and  the  London  society :  whose 
names  you  see  chronicled  at  every  party,  and  who,  being 
Lady  Fugleman's  friends,  are  invited  by  her  Ladyship 
to  Mrs.  Hornby's  house. 

What  a  strange  notion  of  society  does  this  give — of 
friendship,  of  fashion,  of  what  people  will  do  to  be  in 


88  mr.  brown's  letters. 

the  fashion  !  Poor  Mrs.  Hornby  comes  into  her  for- 
tune, and  says  to  her  old  friends  and  family,  "  My  good 
people,  I  am  going  to  cut  every  one  of  you.  You  were 
very  well  as  long  as  we  were  in  the  country,  where  I 
might  have  my  natural  likings  and  affections.  But, 
henceforth,  I  am  going  to  let  Lady  Fugleman  choose 
my  friends  for  me.  I  know  nothing  about  you  any 
more.  I  have  no  objection  to  you,  but  if  you  want  to 
know  me  you  must  ask  Lady  Fugleman  :  if  she  says 
yes,  I  shall  be  delighted  ;  if  no,  Bon  jour." 

This  strange  business  goes  on  daily  in  London.  Ho- 
nest people  do  it,  and  think  not  the  least  harm.  The 
proudest  and  noblest  do  not  think  they  demean  them- 
selves by  crowding  to  Mrs.  Goldcalf's  parties,  and 
strike  quite  openly  a  union  between  her  wealth  and 
their  titles,  to  determine  as  soon  as  the  former  ceases. 
There  is  not  the  least  hypocrisy  about  this  at  any  rate 
— the  terms  of  the  bargain  are  quite  understood  on  every 
hand. 

But  oh,  Bob  !  see  what  an  awful  thing  it  is  to  con- 
fess, and  would  not  even  hypocrisy  be  better  than  this 
daring  cynicism,  this  open  heartlessness — Godlessness  I 
had  almost  called  it  ?  Do  you  mean  to  say,  you  great 
folks,  that  your  object  in  society  is  not  love,  is  not 
friendship,  is  not  family  union  and  affection — is  not 
truth  and  kindness ; — is  not  generous  sympathy  and 
union  of  Christian"(pardon  me  the  word,  but  I  can  indi- 
cate my  meaning  by  no  other) — of  Christian  men  and 


A    WORD    ABOUT    BALLS    IN    SEASON.  89 

women,  parents  and  children, — but  that  you  assemble 
and  meet  together,  not  caring  or  trying  to  care  for  one 
another, — without  a  pretext  of  good  will — with  a  daring 
selfishness  openly  avowed?  I  am  sure  I  wish  Mrs. 
Goldcalf  or  the  other  lady  no  harm,  and  have  never 
spoken  to,  or  set  eyes  on  either  of  them,  and  I  do  not 
mean  to  say,  Mr.  Robert,  that  you  and  I  are  a  whit 
better  than  they  are,  and  doubt  whether  they  have 
made  the  calculation  for  themselves  of  the  consequences 
of  what  they  are  doing.  But  as  sure  as  two  and  two 
make  four,  a  person  giving  up  of  his  own  accord  his 
natural  friends  and  relatives,  for  the  sake  of  the  fashion, 
seems  to  me  to  say,  I  acknowledge  myself  to  be  heart- 
less ;  I  turn  my  back  on  my  friends,  I  disown  my  rela- 
tives, and  I  dishonour  my  father  and  mother. 

And  so  no  more  at  present,  dear  Bob,  from  your 
affectionate,  Brown  the  Elder. 


90  mr.  brown's  letters. 


A  WORD  ABOUT  DINNERS. 


English  Society,  my  beloved  Bob,  has  this  eminent  ad- 
vantage over  all  other — that  is,  if  there  be  any  society 
left  in  the  wretched  distracted  old  European  continent — 
that  it  is  above  all  others  a  dinner-giving  society.  A 
people  like  the  Germans,  that  dines  habitually,  and  with 
what  vast  appetite  I  need  not  say,  at  one  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon — like  the  Italians,  that  spends  its  evenings  in 
Opera  boxes — like  the  French,  that  amuses  itself  of 
nights  with  eau  sucree  and  intrigue — cannot,  believe 
me,  understand  Society  rightly.  I  love  and  admire  my 
nation  for  its  good  sense,  its  manliness,  its  friendliness, 
its  morality  in  the  main — and  these,  I  take  it,  are  all 
expressed  in  that  noble  institution,  the  dinner. 

The  dinner  is  the  happy  end  of  the  Briton's  day. 
We  work  harder  than  the  other  nations  of  the  earth. 
We  do  more,  we  live  more  in  our  time,  than  Frenchmen 
or  Germans.  Every  great  man  amongst  us  lilies  his 
dinner,  and  takes  to  it  kindly.  I  could  mention  the 
most  august  names  of  poets,  statesmen,  philosophers, 
historians,  judges,  and  divines,  who  are  great  at  the 


A    WORD    ABOUT    DINNERS.  91 


dinner-table  as  in  the  field,  the  closet,  the  senate,  or  the 
bench.  Gibbon  mentions  that  he  wrote  the  first  two 
volumes  of  his  history  whilst  a  placeman  in  London, 
lodging  in  St.  James's,  going  to  the  House  of  Commons, 
to  the  Club,  and  to  dinner  every  day.  The  man  flou- 
rishes under  that  generous  and  robust  regimen  ;  the 
healthy  energies  of  society  are  kept  up  by  it ;  our 
friendly  intercourse  is  maintained ;  our  intellect  ripens 
with  the  good  cheer,  and  throws  off  surprising  crops, 
like  the  fields  about  Edinburgh,  under  the  influence  of 
that  admirable  liquid,  Claret.  The  best  wines  are  sent 
to  this  country  therefore  :  for  no  other  deserves  them  as 
ours  does. 

I  am  a  diner  out,  and  live  in  London.  I  protest,  as 
I  look  back  at  the  men  and  dinners  I  have  seen  in  the 
last  week,  my  mind  is  filled  with  manly  respect  and 
pleasure.  How  good  they  have  been !  how  admirable 
the  entertainments  !  how  worthy  the  men  ! 

Let  me,  without  divulging  names,  and  with  a  cordial 
gratitude,  mention  a  few  of  those  whom  I  have  met 
and  who  have  all  done  their  duty. 

Sir,  I  have  sat  at  table  with  a  great,  a  world-renowned 
statesman.  I  watched  him  during  the  progress  of  the 
banquet — I  am  at  liberty  to  say  that  he  enjoyed  it  like 
a  man. 

On  another  day,  it  was  a  celebrated  literary  charac- 
ter. It  was  beautiful  to  see  him  at  his  dinner :  cordial 
and  generous,  jovial  and  kindly,  the  great  author  en- 


92  MR.    BROWNS    LETTERS. 

. — ■ — ■ ■» 

joyed  himself  as  the  great  statesman — may  he  long  give 
ns  good  books  and  good  dinners ! 

Yet  another  day,  and  I  sat  opposite  to  a  Eight  Re- 
verend Bishop.  My  Lord,  I  was  pleased  to  see  good 
thing  after  good  thing  disappear  before  you ;  and  think 
no  man  ever  better  became  that  rounded  episcopal 
apron.  How  amiable  he  was !  how  kind !  He  put 
water  into  his  wine.  Let  us  respect  the  moderation  of 
the  Church. 

And  then  the  men  learned  in  the  law :  how  they  dine ! 
what  hospitality,  what  splendour,  what  comfort,  what 
wine !  As  we  walked  away  very  gently  in  the  moon- 
light, only  three  days  since,  from  the 's,  a  friend 

of  my  youth  and  myself,  we  could  hardly  speak  for 
gratitude :  "  Dear  Sir," — we  breathed  fervently,  "  ask 
us  soon  again."  One  never  has  too  much  at  those  per- 
fect banquets — no  hideous  headaches  ensue,  or  horrid 
resolutions  about  adopting  Revalenta  Arabica  for  the 
future — but  contentment  with  all  the  world,  light  slum- 
bers, joyful  waking  to  grapple  with  the  morrow's  work. 
Ah,  dear  Bob,  those  lawyers  have  great  merits.  There 
is  a  dear  old  judge  at  whose  family  table,  if  I  could  see 
you  seated,  my  desire  in  life  would  be  pretty  nearly  ful- 
filled. If  you  make  yourself  agreeable  there,  you  will 
be  in  a  fair  way  to  get  on  in  the  world.  But  you  are  a 
youth  still.     Youths  go  to  balls  :  men  go  to  dinners. 

Doctors,  again,  notoriously  eat  well ;  when  my  excel- 
lent friend  San gr ado  takes  a  bumper,  and  saying,  with 


A    WORD    ABOUT    DINNERS.  93 

a  shrug  and  a  twinkle  of  his  eye,  "  Video  meliora  pro- 
boque,  deteriora  sequor"  tosses  off  the  wine,  I  always  ask 
the  butler  for  a  glass  of  that  bottle. 

The  inferior  clergy,  likewise,  dine  very  much  and 
well.  I  don't  know  when  I  have  been  better  entertained, 
as  far  as  creature  comforts  go,  than  by  men  of  very  low 
church  principles  ;  and  one  of  the  very  best  repasts  that 
ever  I  saw  in  my  life  was  at  Darlington,  given  by  a 
Quaker. 

Some  of  the  best  wine  in  London  is  given  to  his 
friends  by  a  poet  of  my  acquaintance.  All  artists  are 
notoriously  fond  of  dinners,  and  invite  you,  but  not  so 
profusely.  Newspaper-editors  delight  in  dinners  on 
Saturdays,  and  give  them,  thanks  to  the  present  position 
of  Literature,  very  often  and  good.  Dear  Bob,  I  have 
seen  the  mahoganies  of  many  men. 

Every  evening  between  7  and  8  o'clock,  I  like  to  look 
at  the  men  dressed  for  dinner,  perambulating  the  western 
districts  of  our  city.  I  like  to  see  the  smile  on  their 
countenances  lighted  up  with  an  indescribable  self-im- 
portance and  good  humour ;  the  askance  glances  which 
they  cast  at  the  little  street-boys  and  foot-passengers 
who  eye  their  shiny  boots  ;  the  dainty  manner  in  which 
they  trip  over  the  pavement  on  those  boots,  eschewing 
the  mud-pools  and  dirty  crossings ;  the  refreshing  white- 
ness of  their  linen ;  the  coaxing  twiddle  which  they 
give  to  the  ties  of  their  white  chokers — the  caress  of  a 
fond  parent  to  an  innocent  child. 


94  mr.  brown's  letters. 

I  like  walking-  myself.  Those  who  go  in  cabs  or 
Broughams  I  have  remarked,  somehow,  have  not  the 
same  radiant  expression  which  the  pedestrian  exhibits. 
A  man  in  his  own  Brougham  has  anxieties  about  the 
stepping  of  his  horse,  or  the  squaring  of  the  groom's 
elbows,  or  a  doubt  whether  Jones's  turn-out  is  not  better ; 
or  whether  something  is  not  wrong  in  the  springs ;  or 
whether  he  shall  have  the  Brougham  out  if  the  night  is 
rainy.  They  always  look  tragical  behind  the  glasses. 
A  cab  diner-out  has  commonly  some  cares,  lest  his 
sense  of  justice  should  be  injured  by  the  overcharge  of 
the  driver  (these  fellows  are  not  uncommonly  exorbitant 
in  their  demands  upon  gentlemen  whom  they  set  down 
at  good  houses) ;  lest  the  smell,  of  tobacco  left  by  the 
last  occupants  of  the  vehicle  (five  medical  students,  let 
us  say,  who  have  chartered  the  vehicle  and  smoked 
cheroots  from  the  London  University  to  the  play-house 
in  the  Haymarket)  should  infest  the  clothes  of  Tom  La- 
vender who  is  going  to  Lady  Rosemary's  ;  lest  straws 
should  stick  unobserved  to  the  glutinous  lustre  of  his 
boots — his  shiny  ones,  and  he  should  appear  in  Dives's 
drawing-room  like  a  poet  with  a  tenui  avena,  or  like 
mad  Tom  in  the  play.  I  hope,  my  dear  Bob,  if  a  straw 
should  ever  enter  a  drawing-room  in  the  wake  of  your 
boot,  you  will  not  be  much  disturbed  in  mind.  Hark 
ye,  in  confidence ;  I  have  seen *  in  a  hack  cab. 

*  Mr.  Brown's  MS.  here  contains  a  name  of  such  prodigious  dignity  out 
of  the  P — r — ge,  that  we  really  do  not  dare  to  print  it. 


A    WORD    ABOUT    DINNERS.  95 

There  is  no  harm  in  employing  one.     There  is  no  harm 
in  anything  natural,  any  more. 

I  cannot  help  here  parenthetically  relating  a  story 
which  occurred  in  my  own  youth,  in  the  year  1815, 
at  the  time  when  I  first  made  my  own  entree  into  society 
(for  everything  must  have  a  beginning,  Bob  ;  and  though 
we  have  been  gentlemen  long  before  the  Conqueror,  and 
have  always  consorted  with  gentlemen,  yet  we  had  not 
always  attained  that  haute  volee  of  fashion  which  has 
distinguished  some  of  us  subsequently)  ;  I  recollect,  I 
say,  in  1815,  when  the  Marquis  of  Sweetbread  was 
good  enough  to  ask  me  and  the  late  Mr.  Ruffles  to 
dinner,  to  meet  Prince  Schwartzenberg  and  the 
Hetman  Platoff.  Ruffles  was  a  man  a  good  deal  about 
town  in  those  days,  and  certainly  in  very  good  society. 

I  was  myself  a  young  one,  and  thought  Ruffles  was 
rather  inclined  to  patronize  me :  which  I  did  not  like. 
"  I  would  have  you  to  know,  Mr.  Ruffles,"  thought  I, 
"  that,  after  all,  a  gentleman  can  but  be  a  gentleman ; 
that  though  we  Browns  have  no  handles  to  our  names, 
we  are  quite  as  well-bred  as  some  folks  who  possess 
those  ornaments — and  in  fine  I  determined  to  give  him 
a  lesson.  So  when  he  called  for  me  in  the  hackney- 
coach  at  my  lodgings  in  Swallow  Street,  and  we  had  driven 
under  the  porte-cochere  of  Sweetbread  House,  where 
two  tall  and  powdered  domestics  in  the  uniform  of  the 
Sweetbreads,  viz.  a  spinach-coloured  coat,  with  waistcoat 
and  the  rest  of  delicate  yellow  or  melted-butter  colour, 


96  mr.  brown's  letters. 

opened  the  doors  of  trie  hall — what  do  you  think,  Sir,  1 
did  ?  In  the  presence  of  these  gentlemen,  who  were 
holding  on  at  the  door,  I  offered  to  toss  up  with  Ruf- 
fles, heads  or  tails,  who  should  pay  for  the  coach ;  and 
then  purposely  had  a  dispute  with  the  poor  Jarvey  about 
the  fare.  Ruffles's  face  of  agony  during  this  transac- 
tion I  shall  never  forget.  Sir,  it  was  like  the  Laocoon. 
Drops  of  perspiration  trembled  on  his  pallid  brow,  and  he 
flung  towards  me  looks  of  imploring  terror  that  would 
have  melted  an  ogre.  A  better  fellow  than  Ruffles 
never  lived — he  is  dead  long  since,  and  I  don't  mind 
owning  to  this  harmless  little  deceit. 

A  person  of  some  note — a  favourite  Snob  of  mine  (to 
use  the  words  of  a  somewhat  coarse  writer  who  previ- 
ously contributed  to  this  periodical) — I  am  told,  when 
he  goes  to  dinner,  adopts  what  he  considers  a  happy  ar- 
tifice, and  sends  his  cab  away  at  the  corner  of  the  street ; 
so  that  the  gentleman  in  livery  may  not  behold  its 
number,  or  that  lord  with  whom  he  dines,  and  about 
whom  he  is  always  talking,  may  not  be  supposed  to 
know  that  Mr.  Smith  came  in  a  hack-cab. 

A  man  who  is  troubled  with  a  shame  like  this,  Bob, 
is  unworthy  of  any  dinner  at  all.  Snch  a  man  must 
needs  be  a  sneak  and  a  humbug,  anxious  about  the  effect 
which  he  is  to  produce  :  uneasy  in  his  mind :  a  donkey 
in  a  lion's  skin  :  a  small  pretender — distracted  by  doubts 
and  frantic  terrors  of  what  is  to  come  next.  Such  a  man 
can  be  no  more  at  ease  in  his  chair  at  dinner  than  a  man 


A    WORD    ABOUT    DINNERS.  97 

is  in  the  fauteuil  at  the  dentist's  (unless  indeed  )-e  go  to 
the  admirable  Mr.  Gilbert  in  Suffolk  Place,  who  is 
dragged  into  this  essay  for  the  benefit  of  mankind  alone, 
and  who,  I  vow,  removes  a  grinder  with  so  lit'le  pain, 
that  all  the  world  should  be  made  aware  of  1  im) — a 
fellow,  I  say,  ashamed  of  the  original  from  w.iich  he 
sprung,  of  the  cab  in  which  he  drives,  awkward,  there- 
fore, affected,  and  unnatural,  can  never  hope  or  deserve 
to  succeed  in  society. 

The  great  comfort  of  the  society  of  great  foil  •  is,  that 
they  do  not  trouble  themselves  about  your  t\  o-penny 
little  person,  as  smaller  persons  do,  but  take  you  for 
what  you  are — a  man  kindly  and  good-natured,  or  witty 
and  sarcastic,  or  learned  and  eloquent,  or  a  good  raccon- 
teur,  or  a  very  handsome  man,  (and  in  '15  some  of  the 
Browns  were — but  I  am  speaking  of  five-and-thirty 
years  ago,)  or  an  excellent  gourmand  and  judge  of  wines 
— or  what  not.  Nobody  sets  you  so  quickly  at  your 
ease  as  a  fine  gentleman.  I  have  seen  more  noise  made 
about  a  knight's  lady  than  about  the  Duchess  of  Fitz- 
battleaxe  herself :  and  Lady  Mountararat,  whose 
family  dates  from  the  Deluge,  enter  and  leave  a  room, 
with  her  daughters,  the  lovely  Ladies  Eve  and  Lilith 
D'Arc,  with  much  less  pretension  and  in  much  simpler 
capotes  and  what-do-you-call-ems,  than  Lady  de  Mogyns 
or  Mrs.  Shindy,  who  quit  an  assembly  in  a  whirlwind 
as  it  were,  with  trumpets  and  alarums  like  a  stage  King 
and  Queen. 

5 


98  mr.  brown's  letters. 


But  my  pen  can  run  no  further,  for  my  paper  is  out, 
and  it  is  time  to  dress  for  dinner.  Let  us  resume  this 
theme  next  week,  dear  youth,  and  believe  me  in  the 
meantime  to  be  your  affectionate 

Brown  the  Elder. 


SOME    OLD    CUSTOMS    OF    THE    DINNER-TABLE.  99 


ON  SOME  OLD  CUSTOMS  OF  THE 
DINNER-TABLE. 


Of  all  the  sciences  which  have  made  a  progress  in  late 
years,  I  think,  dear  Bob  (to  return  to  the  subject  from 
which  I  parted  with  so  much  pleasure  last  week),  that 
the  art  of  dinner-giving  has  made  the  most  delightful 
and  rapid  advances.  Sir,  I  maintain,  even  now  with 
a  matured  age  and  appetite,  that  the  dinners  of  this 
present  day  are  better  than  those  we  had  in  our  youth, 
and  I  can't  but  be  thankful  at  least  once  in  every  day 
for  this  decided  improvement  in  our  civilization.  Those 
who  remember  the  usages  of  five-and-twenty  years  back 
will  be  ready,  I  am  sure,  to  acknowledge  this  progress. 
I  was  turning  over  at  the  Club  yesterday  a  queer  little 
book  written  at  that  period,  which,  I  believe,  had  some 
authority  at  the  time,  and  which  records  some  of 
those  customs  which  obtained,  if  not  in  good  London 
Society,  at  least  in  some  companies,  and  parts  of  our 
island.  Sir,  many  of  these  practices  seem  as  antiquated 
now,  as  the  usages  described  in  the  accounts  of  Homeric 
feasts,  or  Queen  Elizabeth's  banquets  and  breakfasts. 
Let  us  be  happy  to  think  they  are  gone. 


100  mr.  brown's  letters. 

The  book  in  question  is  called  The  Maxims  of  Sir 
Morgan  O'Doherty,  a  queer  baronet,  who  appears  to 
have  lived  in  the  first  quarter  of  the  century,  and  whose 
opinions  the  antiquarian  may  examine,  not  without 
profit — a  strange  barbarian  indeed  it  is,  and  one  won- 
ders that  such  customs  should  ever  have  been  prevalent 
in  our  country. 

Fancy  such  opinions  as  these  having  ever  been 
holden  by  any  set  of  men  among  us.  Maxim  2.  "It  is 
laid  down  in  fashionable  life  that  you  must  drink 
champagne  after  white  cheeses,  water  after  red."  .  .  . 
"  Ale  is  to  be  avoided,  in  case  a  wet  night  is  to  be 
expected,  as  should  cheese  also."  Maxim  4.  "  A  fine 
singer,  after  dinner,  is  to  be  avoided,  for  he  is  a  great 
bore,  and  stops  the  wine  .  .  .  One  of  the  best 
rules  (to  put  him  down)  is  to  applaud  him  most 
vociferously  as  soon  as  he  has  sung  the  first  verse,  as  if 
all  was  over,  and  say  to  the  gentleman  furthest  from 
you  at  table  that  you  admire  the  conclusion  of  this 
song  very  much."  Maxim  25.  "  You  meet  people 
occasionally  who  tell  you  it  is  bad  taste  to  give  cham- 
pagne at  dinner — Port  and  Tenerifte  being  such 
superior  drinking,"  <fcc,  &c.  I  am  copying  out  of  a 
book  printed  three  months  since,  describing  ways  pre- 
valent when  you  were  born.  Can  it  be  possible,  I  say, 
that  England  was  ever  in  such  a  state  ? 

Was  it  ever  a  maxim  in  "  fashionable  life  "  that  you 
were  to  drink  Champagne  after  white  cheeses  ?     What 


SOME    OLD    CUSTOMS    OF    THE     DINNER-TABLE.        101 


was  that  fashionable  life  about  drinking  and  about 
cheese  ?  The  maxim  in  fashionable  life  is  to  drink  what 
you  will.  It  is  too  simple  now  to  trouble  itself  about 
wine  or  about  cheese.  Ale  again  is  to  be  avoided,  this 
strange  Doiierty  says,  if  you  expect  a  wet  night — and 
in  another  place  says,  "  the  English  drink  a  pint  of 
porter  at  a  draught." — What  English  ?  gracious  powers ! 
Are  we  a  nation  of  coalheavers  ?  Do  we  ever  have  a 
wet  night  ?  Do  we  ever  meet  people  occasionally  who 
say  that  to  give  Champagne  at  dinner  is  bad  taste,  and 
that  Port  and  Teneriffe  are  such  superior  drinking  ? 
Fancy  Teneriffe,  my  dear  boy — I  say  fancy  a  man  asking 
you  to  drink  Teneriffe  at  dinner ;  the  mind  shudders 
at  it — he  might  as  well  invite  you  to  swallow  the  Peak. 

And  then  consider  the  maxim  about  the  fine  singer 
who  is  to  be  avoided.  What !  was  there  a  time  within 
most  people's  memory,  when  folks  at  dessert  began  to 
sing  ?  I  have  heard  such  a  thing  as  a  tenants'  dinner 
in  the  country ;  but  the  idea  of  a  fellow  beginning  to 
perform  a  song  at  a  dinner-party  in  London  fills  my 
mind  with  terror  and  amazement ;  and  I  picture  to 
myself  any  table  which  I  frequent,  in  May  fair,  in 
Bloomsbury,  in  Belgravia,  or  where  you  will,  and  the 
pain  which  would  seize  upon  the  host  and  the  company 
if  some  wretch  were  to  commence  a  song. 

We  have  passed  that  savage  period  of  life.  We  do 
not  want  to  hear  songs  from  guests,  we  have  the  songs 
done  for  us  :  as  we  don't  want  our  ladies  to  go  down 


102  mr.  brown's  letters. 


into  the  kitchen  and  cook  the  dinner  any  more.  The 
cook  can  do  it  better  and  cheaper.  We  do  not  desire 
feats  of  musical  or  culinary  skill — but  simple,  quiet, 
easy,  unpretending-  conversation. 

In  like  manner,  there  was  a  practice  once  usual,  and 
which  still  lingers  here  and  there,  of  making  compli- 
mentary speeches  after  dinner  ;  that  custom  is  happily 
almost  entirely  discontinued.  Gentlemen  do  not  meet 
to  compliment  each  other  profusely,  or  to  make  fine 
phrases.  Simplicity  gains  upon  us  daily.  Let  us  be 
thankful  that  the  florid  style  is  disappearing. 

I  once  shared  a  bottle  of  sherry  with  a  commercial 
traveller  at  Margate  who  gave  a  toast  or  a  sentiment 
as  he  filled  every  glass.  He  would  not  take  his  wine 
without  this  queer  ceremony  before  it.  I  recollect  one 
of  his  sentiments,  which  was  as  follows  :  "  Year  is  to  'er 
who  doubles  our  joys,  and  divides  our  sorrows — I  give 
you  woman,  Sir," — and  we  both  emptied  our  glasses. 
These  lumbering  ceremonials  are  passing  out  of  our 
manners,  and  were  found  only  to  obstruct  our  free  inter- 
course. People  can  like  each  other  just  as  much  without 
orations,  and  be  just  as  merry  without  being  forced  to 
drink  against  their  will. 

And  yet  there  are  certain  customs  to  which  one 
clings  still ;  for  instance,  the  practice  of  drinking  wine 
with  your  neighbour,  though  wisely  not  so  frequently 
indulged  in  as  of  old,  vet  still  obtains  and  I  trust  will 
never  be  abolished.     For  though,  in  the  old  time,  when 


SOME    OLD    CUSTOMS    OF    THE    DINNER-TABLE.        103 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Fogy  had  sixteen  friends  to  dinnar,  it  be- 
came an  insupportable  corvee  for  Mr.  F.  to  ask  sixteen 
persons  to  drink  wine,  and  a  painful  task  for  Mrs.  Fogy 
to  be  called  upon  to  bow  to  ten  gentlemen,  who  desired 
to  have  the  honour  to  drink  her  health,  yet,  employed 
in  moderation,  that  ancient  custom  of  challenging  your 
friends  to  drink  is  a  kindly  and  hearty  old  usage,  and 
productive  of  many  most  beneficial  results. 

I  have  known  a  man  of  a  modest  and  reserved  turn 
(just  like  your  old  uncle,  dear  Bob,  as  no  doubt  you 
were  going  to  remark),  when  asked  to  drink  by  the 
host,  suddenly  lighten  up,  toss  off  his  glass,  get  confi- 
dence, and  begin  to  talk  right  and  left.  He  wanted 
but  the  spur  to  set  him  going.  It  is  supplied  by  the 
butler  at  the  back  of  his  chair. 

It  sometimes  happens  again,  that  a  host's  conver- 
sational powers  are  not  brilliant.  I  own  that  I  could 
point  out  a  few  such  whom  I  have  the  honour  to  name 
among  my  friends — gentlemen,  in  fact,  who  wisely  hold 
their  tongues  because  they  have  nothing  to  say  which 
is  worth  the  hearing  or  the  telling,  and  properly  confine 
themselves  to  the  carving  of  the  mutton  and  the  order- 
ing of  the  wines.  Such  men,  manifestly,  should  always 
be  allowed,  nay  encouraged,  to  ask  their  guests  to  take 
wine.  In  putting  that  hospitable  question,  they  show 
their  goodwill,  and  cannot  possibly  betray  their  mental 
deficiency.  For  example,  let  us  suppose  Jones,  who 
has   been  perfectly  silent    all    dinner-time,  oppressed, 


104  MR.  brown's  letters. 

doubtless,  by  that  awful  Lady  Tiara,  who  sits  swelling 
on  his  right  hand,  suddenly  rallies,  singles  me  out,  and 
with  a  loud  cheering  voice,  cries,  "  Brown,  my  boy,  a 
glass  of  wine."  I  reply,  "with  pleasure,  my  dear 
Jones."  He  responds  as  quick  as  thought,  "  Shall  it 
be  Hock  or  Champagne,  Brown  ?"  I  mention  the  wine 
which  I  prefer.  He  calls  to  the  butler,  and  says, 
"  Some  Champagne  or  Hock"  (as  the  case  may  be,Tor 
I  don't  choose  to  commit  myself),  "Some  Champagne 
or  Hock  to  Mr.  Brown  ;"  and  finally  he  says,  "  Good 
health !"  in  a  pleasant  tone.  Thus,  you  see,  Jones, 
though  not  a  conversationist,  has  had  the  opportunity 
of  making  no  less  than  four  observations,  which,  if  not 
brilliant  or  witty,  are  yet  manly,  sensible,  and  agreeable. 
And  I  defy  any  man  in  the  metropolis,  be  he  the  most 
accomplished,  the  most  learned,  the  wisest,  or  the  most 
eloquent,  to  say  more  than  Jones  upon  a  similar  occasion. 
If  you  have  had  a  difference  with  a  man,  and  are  de- 
sirous to  make  it  up,  how  pleasant  it  is  to  take  wine 
with  him.  Nothing  is  said  but  that  simple  phrase 
which  has  just  been  uttered  by  my  friend  J  ones  ;  and 
yet  it  means  a  great  deal.  The  cup  is  a  symbol  of  re- 
conciliation. The  other  party  drinks  up  your  goodwill 
as  you  accept  his  token  of  returning  friendship — and 
thus  the  liquor  is  hallowed  which  Jones  has  paid  for : 
and  I  like  to  think  that  the  grape  which  grew  by  Rhine 
or  Rhone  was  born  and  ripened  under  the  sun  there,  so 
as  to  be  the  means  of  bringing  two  good  fellows  toge- 


SOME    OLD    CUSTOMS    OF    THE    DINNER-TABLE.        105 

tlier.  I  once  heard  the  Head-Physician  of  a  Hydropa 
thic  establishment  on  the  sunny  banks  of  the  first  named 
river,  give  the  health  of  His  Majesty  the  King  of 
Prussia,  and,  calling  upon  the  company  to  receive  that 
august  toast  with  a  "  donnerndes  Lebehoch,"  toss  off  a 
bumper  of  sparkling  water.  It  did  not  seem  to  me  a 
genuine  enthusiasm.  No,  no,  let  us  have  toast  and 
wine,  not  toast  and  water.  It  was  not  in  vain  that 
grapes  grew  on  the  hills  of  father  Rhine. 

One  seldom  asks  ladies  now  to  take  wine, — except 
when,  in  a  confidential  whisper  to  the  charming  crea- 
ture whom  you  have  brought  down  to  dinner,  you 
humbly  ask  permission  to  pledge  her,  and  she  delicately 
touches  her  glass,  with  a  fascinating  smile,  in  reply  to 
your  glance, — a  smile,  you  rogue,  which  goes  to  your 
heart.  I  say,  one  does  not  ask  ladies  any  more  to  take 
wine  :  and  I  think,  this  custom  being  abolished,  the 
contrary  practice  should  be  introduced,  and  that  the 
ladies  should  ask  the  gentlemen.  I  know  one  who  did, 
une  grande  dame  de  par  le  monde,  as  honest  Brantome 
phrases  it,  and  from  whom  I  deserved  no  such  kindness 
— but,  Sir,  the  effect  of  that  graceful  act  of  hospitality 
was  such,  that  she  made  a  grateful  slave  for  ever  of  one 
who  was  an  admiring  rebel  previously,  who  would  do 
anything  to  show  his  gratitude,  and  who  now  knows  no 
greater  delight  than  when  he  receives  a  card  which 
bears  her  respected  name.* 

•  Upon  my  word,  Mr.  Brown,  this  is  too  broad  a  hint.—  Punch. 

5* 


106  mr.  brown's  letters. 


A  dinner  of  men  is  well  now  and  again,  but  few  well- 
regulated  minds  relish  a  dinner  without  women.  There 
are  some  wretches  who,  I  believe,  still  meet  together  for 
the  sake  of  what  is  called  the  "  spread,"  who  dine  each 
other  round  and  round,  and  have  horrid  delights  in 
turtle,  early  peas,  and  other  culinary  luxuries — but  1 
pity  the  condition  as  I  avoid  the  banquets  of  those  men. 
The  only  substitute  for  ladies  at  dinners,  or  consolation 
for  want  of  them,  is — smoking.  Cigars,  introduced  with 
the  coffee,  do,  if  anything  can,  make  us  forget  the 
absence  of  the  other  sex.  But  what  a  substitute  is  that 
for  her  who  doubles  our  joys,  and  divides  our  griefs  ! 
for  woman ! — as  my  friend  the  Traveller  said. 


GREAT    AND    LITTLE    DINNERS.  107 


GREAT  AND  LITTLE  DINNERS. 


It  has  been  said,  dear  Bob,  that  I  have  seen  the  maho- 
ganies of  many  men,  and  it  is  with  no  small  feeling  of 
pride  and  gratitude  that  I  am  enabled  to  declare  also, 
that  I  hardly  remember  in  my  life  to  have  had  a  bad 
dinner.  Would  to  Heaven  that  all  mortal  men  could 
say  likewise !  Indeed,  and  in  the  presence  of  so  much 
want  and  misery  as  pass  under  our  kefi  daily,  it  is  with 
a  feelino-  of  something  like  shame  and  humiliation  that 
I  make  the  avowal ;  but  I  have  robbed  no  man  of  his 
meal  that  I  know  of,  and  am  here  speaking  of  very 
humble  as  well  as  very  grand  banquets,  the  which  I 
maintain  are,  when  there  is  a  sufficiency,  almost  always 
good. 

Yes,  all  dinners  are  good,  from  a  shilling  upwards. 
The  plate  of  boiled  beef  which  Mary,  the  neat-handed 
waitress,  brings  or  used  to  bring  you  in  the  Old  Bailey 
— I  say  used,  for,  ah  me !  I  speak  of  years  long  past, 
when  the  cheeks  of  Mary  were  as  blooming  as  the  car- 
rots which  she  brought  up  with  the  beef,  and  she  may 
be  a  grandmother  by  this  time,  or  a  pallid  ghost,  far  out 
of  the  regions  of  beef; — from  the  shilling  dinner  ot 


108  mr.  brown's  letters. 

beef  and  carrots  to  the  grandest  banquet  of  the  season — * 
everything  is  good.  There  are  no  degrees  in  eating.  I 
mean  that  mutton  is  as  good  as  venison — beefsteak,  if 
you  are  hungry,  as  good  as  turtle — bottled  ale,  if  you 
like  it,  to  the  full  as  good  as  Champagne ; — there  is  no 
delicacy  in  the  world  which  Monsieur  Francatelli  or 
Monsieur  Soyer  can  produce,  which  I  believe  to  be 
better  than  toasted  cheese.  I  have  seen  a  dozen  of  epi- 
cures at  a  grand  table  forsake  every  French  and  Italian 
delicacy  for  boiled  leg  of  pork  and  pease  pudding. 
You  can  but  be  hungry,  and  eat  and  be  happy. 

What  is  the  moral  I  would  deduce  from  this  truth,  if 
truth  it  be  ?  I  would  have  a  great  deal  more  hospita- 
lity practised  than  is  common  among  us — more  hospi- 
tality and  less  show.  Properly  considered,  the  quality 
of  dinner  is  twice  blest ;  it  blesses  him  that  gives,  and 
him  that  takes  :  a  dinner  with  friendliness  is  the  best 
of  all  friendly  meetings — a  pompous  entertainment, 
where  no  love  is,  the  least  satisfactory. 

Why  then  do  we  of  the  middle  classes,  persist  in 
giving  entertainments  so  costly,  and  beyond  our  means  ? 
This  will  be  read  by  many  a  man  and  woman  next 
Thursday,  who  are  aware  that  they  live  on  leg  of  mut- 
ton themselves,  or  worse  than  this,  have  what  are  called 
meat  teas,  than  which  I  can't  conceive  a  more  odious 
custom ;  that  ordinarily  they  are  very  sober  in  their  way 
of  life ;  that  they  like  in  reality  that  leg  of  mutton 
better  than  the  condiments  of  that  doubtful  French  artist 


GREAT    AND    LITTLE    DINNERS.  109 

who  comes  from  the  pastrycook's,  and  presides  over  the 
mysterious  stewpans  in  the  kitchen ;  why  then  on  their 
company  dinners  should  they  flare  up  in  the  magnifi- 
cent manner  in  which  they  universally  do  ? 

Everybody  has  the  same  dinner  in  London,  and  the 
same  souj),  saddle  of  mutton,  boiled  fowls  and  tongue, 
entrees,  champagne,  and  so  forth.  I  own  myself  to  being 
no  better  nor  worse  than  my  neighbours  in  this  respect, 
and  rush  off  to  the  confectioner's  for  sweets,  &c. ;  hire 
sham  butlers  and  attendants  ;  have  a  fellow  going  round 
the  table  with  still  and  dry  champagne,  as  if  I  knew  his 
name,  and  it  was  my  custom  to  drink  those  wines  every 
day  of  my  life.  I  am  as  bad  as  my  neighbours ;  but  why 
are  -we  so  bad,  I  ask  ? — why  are  we  not  more  reasonable  ? 

If  we  receive  very  great  men  or  ladies  at  our  houses, 
I  will  lay  a  wager  that  they  will  select  mutton  and 
gooseberry  tart  for  their  dinner ;  forsaking  the  entrees 
which  the  men  in  white  Berlin  gloves  are  handing 
round  in  the  Birmingham  plated  dishes.  Asking  lords 
and  ladies,  who  have  great  establishments  of  their  own, 
to  French  dinners  and  delicacies,  is  like  inviting  a  grocer 
to  a  meal  of  figs,  or  a  pastrycook  to  a  banquet  of  rasp- 
berry tarts.  They  have  had  enough  of  them.  And 
great  folks,  if  they  like  you,  take  no  count  of  your  feasts, 
and  grand  preparations,  and  can  but  eat  mutton  like  mon. 

One  cannot  have  sumptuary  laws  now-a-days.  or 
restrict  the  gastronomical  more  than  any  other  trade  : 
but  I  wish  a  check  could  be  put  upon  our  dinner-extra- 


110  MR.    BROWN'S    LETTERS. 

vagances  by  some  means,  and  am  confident  that  the 
pleasures  of  life  would  greatly  be  increased  by  modera- 
tion. A  man  might  give  two  dinners  for  one,  according 
to  the  present  pattern.  Half  your  money  is  swallowed 
up  in  a  dessert,  which  nobody  wants  in  the  least,  and 
which  I  always  grudge  to  see  arriving  at  the  end  of 
plenty.  Services  of  culinary  kickshaws  swallow  up 
money,  which  gives  nobody  pleasure,  except  the  pastry- 
cook, whom  it  enriches.  Everybody  lives  as  if  he  had 
three  or  four  thousand  a  year. 

Somebody  with  a  voice  potential  should  cry  out 
against  this  overwhelming  luxury.  What  is  mere 
decency  in  a  very  wealthy  man  is  absurdity — nay, 
wickedness,  in  a  poor  one  :  a  frog  by  nature,  I  am  an 
insane,  silly  creature,  to  attempt  to  swell  myself  to  the 
size  of  the  ox,  my  neighbour.  Oh  that  I  could  esta- 
blish in  the  middle  classes  of  London  an  Anti-entree  and 
Anti-Dessert  movement !  I  would  go  down  to  posterity 
not  ill-deserving  of  my  country  in  such  a  case,  and 
might  be  ranked  among  the  social  benefactors.  Let  us 
have  a  meeting  at  Willis's  Rooms,  Ladies  and  Gentle- 
men, for  the  purpose,  and  get  a  few  philanthropists, 
philosophers,  and  bishops  or  so,  to  speak  !  As  people, 
in  former  days,  refused  to  take  sugar,  let  us  get  up  a  society 
which  shall  decline  to  eat  dessert  and  made-dishes.* 

*  Mr.  Brown  here  enumerates  three  entries,  which  he  confesses  he  can-not 
resist,  and  likewise  preserved  cherries  at  dessert :  but  the  principle  is  food, 
though  the  man  is  weak. 


GREAT    AND    LITTLE    DINNERS.  Ill 


In  this  way,  I  say,  every  man  who  now  gives  a 
dinner  might  give  two ;  and  take  in  a  host  of  poor 
friends  and  relatives,  who  are  now  excluded  from  his 
hospitality.  For  dinners  are  given  mostly  in  the  middle 
classes  by  way  of  revenge  ;  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thompson 
ask  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Johnson,  because  the  latter  have 
asked  them.  A  man  at  this  rate  who  gives  four  dinners 
of  twenty  persons  in  the  course  of  the  season,  each 
dinner  costing  him  something  very  near  upon  thirty 
pounds,  receives  in  return,  we  will  say,  forty  dinners 
from  the  friends  whom  he  has  himself  invited.  That  is, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Johnson  pay  a  hundred  and  twenty 
pounds,  as  do  all  their  friends,  for  forty-four  dinners  of 
which  they  partake.  So  that  they  may  calculate  that 
every  time  they  dine  with  their  respected  friends,  they 
pay  about  twenty-eight  shillings  per  tete.  What  a 
sum  this  is,  dear  Johnson,  for  you  and  me  to  spend 
upon  our  waistcoats  !  What  does  poor  Mrs.  Johnson 
care  for  all  these  garish  splendours,  who  has  had  her 
dinner  at  two  with  her  dear  children  in  the  nursery  ? 
Our  custom  is  not  hospitality  or  pleasure,  but  to  be  able 
to  cut  off  a  certain  number  of  acquaintance  from  the 
dining  list. 

One  of  these  dinners  of  twenty,  again,  is  scarcely  ever 
pleasant  as  far  as  regards  society.  You  may  chance  to 
get  near  a  pleasant  neighbour  and  neighbouress,  when 
your  corner  of  the  table  is  possibly  comfortable.  But 
there  can  be  no  general  conversation.     Twenty  people 


112  mk.  brown's  letters. 

cannot  engage  together  in  talk.  You  would  want  a 
speaking-trumpet  to  communicate  from  your  place  by 
the  lady  of  the  house  (for  I  wish  to  give  my  respected 
reader  the  place  of  honour)  to  the  lady  at  the  opposite 
corner  at  the  right  of  the  host.  If  you  have  a  joke  or  a 
mot  to  make,  you  cannot  utter  it  before  such  a  crowd. 
A  joke  is  nothing  which  can  only  get  a  laugh  out  of  a 
third  part  of  the  company,  The  most  eminent  wags 
of  my  acquaintance  are  dumb  in  these  great  parties  ; 
and  your  raconteur  or  story-teller,  if  he  is  prudent,  will 
invariably  hold  his  tongue.  For  what  can  be  more 
odious  than  to  be  compelled  to  tell  a  story  at  the  top  of 
your  voice,  to  be  called  on  to  repeat  it  for  the  benefit  of 
a  distant  person  who  has  only  heard  a  part  of  the  anec- 
dote ?  There  are  stories  of  mine  which  would  fail 
utterly,  were  they  narrated  in  any  but  an  under  tone ; 
others  in  which  I  laugh,  am  overcome  by  emotion,  and 
so-forth — what  I  call  my  intimes  stories.  Now  it  is 
impossible  to  do  justice  to  these  except  in  the  midst  of 
a  general  hush,  and  in  a  small  circle ;  so  that  I  am 
commonly  silent.  And  as  no  anecdote  is  positively  new 
in  a  party  of  twenty,  the  chances  are  so  much  against 
you  that  somebody  should  have  heard  the  story  before, 
in  which  case  you  are  done. 

In  these  large  assemblies,  a  wit,  then,  is  of  no  use, 
and  does  not  have  a  chance  :  a  raconteur  does  not  {jet  a 
fair  hearing,  and  both  of  these  real  ornaments  of  a 
dinner-table  are  thus  utterly  thrown  away.     I  have  seen 


GREAT    AND    LITTLE    DINNERS.  113 

Jack  Jolliffe,  who  can  keep  a  table  of  eight  or  ten 
persons  in  a  roar  of  laughter  for  four  hours,  remain 
utterly  mute  in  a  great  entertainment,  smothered  by  the 
numbers  and  the  dowager  on  each  side  of  him  :  and 
Tom  Yarnold,  the  most  eminent  of  our  conversationists, 
sit  through  a  dinner  as  dumb  as  the  footman  behind 
him.  They  do  not  care  to  joke,  unless  there  is  a  sym- 
pathising society,  and  prefer  to  be  silent  rather  than  to 
throw  their  good  things  away. 

What  I  would  recommend,  then,  with  all  my  power, 
is,  that  dinners  should  be  more  simple,  more  frequent, 
and  should  contain  fewer  persons.  Ten  is  the  utmost 
number  that  a  man  of  moderate  means  should  ever 
invite  to  his  table  ;  although  in  a  great  house,  managed 
by  a  great  establishment,  the  case  may  be  different.  A 
man  and  woman  may  look  as  if  they  were  glad  to  see 
ten  people  ;  but  in  a  great  dinner  they  abdicate  their 
position  as  host  and  hostess, — are  mere  creatures  in  the 
hands  of  the  sham  butlers,  sham  footmen,  and  tall  con- 
fectioners' emissaries  who  crowd  the  room, — and  are 
guests  at  their  own  table,  where  they  are  helped  last, 
and  of  which  they  occupy  the  top  and  bottom.  I  have 
marked  many  a  lady  watching  with  timid  glances  the 
large  artificial  major-domo,  who  officiates  for  that  night 
only,  and  thought  to  myself,  "  Ah,  my  dear  madam,  how 
much  happier  might  we  all  be  if  there  were  but  half  the 
splendour,  half  the  made  dishes,  and  half  the  company 
assembled." 


114  mr.  brown's  letters. 


If  any  dinner-giving  person  who  reads  this'  shall  be 
induced  by  my  representations  to  pause  in  his  present 
career,  to  cut  off  some  of  the  luxuries  of  his  table,  and 
instead  of  giving  one  enormous  feast  to  twenty  persons 
to  have  three  simple  dinners  for  ten,  my  dear  Nephew 
will  not  have  been  addressed  in  vain.  Everybody  will 
be  bettered  ;  and  while  the  guests  will  be  better  pleased, 
and  more  numerous,  the  host  will  actually  be  left  with 
money  in  his  pocket. 


ON    LOVE,    MARRIAGE,    MEN,    AND    WOMEN.  115 


ON   LOVE,   MARRIAGE,   MEN,   AND   WOMEN 


I. 
Bob  Brown  is  in  love,  then,  and  undergoing  the  com- 
mon lot !  And  so,  my  dear  lad,  you  are  this  moment 
enduring  the  delights  and  tortures,  the  jealousy  and 
wakefulness,  the  longing  and  raptures,  the  frantic  des- 
pair and  elation,  attendant  upon  the  passion  of  love.  In 
the  year  1812  (it  was  before  I  contracted  my  alliance 
with  your  poor  dear  aunt,  who  never  caused  me  any  of 
the  disquietudes  above  enumerated)  I  myself  went 
through  some  of  those  miseries  and  pleasures,  which 
you  now,  O  my  nephew,  are  enduring.  I  pity  and 
sympathise  with  you.  I  am  an  old  cock  now,  with  a 
feeble  strut  and  a  faltering  crow.  But  I  was  young 
once :  and  remember  the  time  very  well.  Since  that 
time,  amavi  amantes  :  if  I  see  two  young  people  happy, 
I  like  it :  as  I  like  to  see  children  enjoying  a  pantomime. 
I  have  been  the  confidant  of  numbers  of  honest  fellows, 
and  the  secret  watcher  of  scores  of  little  pretty  in- 
trigues in  life.  Miss  Y.,  I  know  why  you  go  so  eagerly 
to  balls  now,  and  Mr.  Z.,  what  has  set  you  off  dancing 
at  your  mature  age.  Do  you  fancy,  Mrs.  Alpha,  that 
I  believe  you  walk  every  day  at  half-past  eleven  by  the 


1  1 6  MR.  brown's  letters. 

Serpentine  for  nothing,  and  that  I  don't  see  young 
O'Mega  in  Rotten  Row  ?  .  .  .  And  so,  my  poor  Bob, 
you  are  shot. 

If  you  lose  the  object  of  your  desires,  the  loss  won't 
kill  you ;  you  may  set  that  down  as  a  certainty.  If 
you  win,  it  is  possible  that  you  will  be  disappointed ; 
that  point  also  is  to  be  considered.  But  hit  or  miss, 
good  luck  or  bad — I  should  be  sorry,  my  honest  Bob, 
that  thou  didst  not  undergo  the  malady.  Every  man 
ought  to  be  in  love  a  few  times  in  his  life,  and  to  have 
a  smart  attack  of  the  fever.  You  are  the  better  for  it 
when  it  is  over :  the  better  for  your  misfortune  if  you 
endure  it  with  a  manly  heart ;  how  much  the  better  for 
success  if  you  win  it  and  a  good  wife  into  the  bargain ! 
Ah !  Bob — there  is  a  stone  in  the  burying-ground  at 
Funchal  which  I  often  and  often  think  of — many  hopes 
and  passions  lie  beneath  it,  along  with  the  fairest  and 
gentlest  creature  in  the  world — it's  not  Mrs.  Brown 
that  lies  there.  After  life's  fitful  fever,  she  sleeps  in 
Marylebone  burying-ground,  poor  dear  soul !  Emily 
Blenkinsop  might  have  been  Mrs.  Brown,  but — but 
let  us  change  the  subject. 

Of  course  you  will  take  advice,  my  dear  Bob,  about 
your  flame.  All  men  and  women  do.  It  is  notorious 
that  they  listen  to  the  opinions  of  all  their  friends,  and 
never  follow  their  own  counsel.  Well,  tell  us  about  this 
girl.  What  are  her  qualifications,  expectations,  belong- 
ings, station  in  life,  and  so  forth  ? 


ON    LOVE,    MARRIAGE,    MEN,    AND    WOMEN.  117 

About  beauty  I  do  not  argue.  I  take  it  for  granted. 
A  man  sees  beauty,  or  that  which  he  likes,  with  eyes 
entirely  his  own.  I  don't  say  that  plain  women  get 
husbands  as  readily  as  the  pretty  girls — but  so  many 
handsome  girls  are  unmarried,  and  so  many  of  the 
other  sort  wedded,  that  there  is  no  possibility  of  esta- 
blishing a  rule,  or  of  setting  up  a  standard.  Poor  dear 
Mrs.  Brown  was  a  far  finer  woman  than  Emily  Blen- 
kinsop,  and  yet  I  loved  her  little  finger  more  than  the 
whole  hand  which  your  aunt  Martha  gave  me — I  see 
the  plainest  women  exercising  the  greatest  fascinations 
over  men — in  fine,  a  man  falls  in  love  with  a  woman 
because  it  is  fate,  because  she  is  a  woman ;  Bob,  too,  is 
a  man,  and  endowed  with  a  heart  and  a  beard. 

Is  she  a  clever  woman  ?  I  do  not  mean  to  disparage 
you,  my  good  fellow,  but  you  are  not  a  man  that  is 
likely  to  set  the  Thames  on  fire ;  and  I  should  rather 
like  to  see  you  fall  to  the  lot  of  a  clever  woman.  A  set 
has  been  made  against  clever  women  from  all  times. 
Take  all  Shakspeare's  heroines — they  all  seem  to  me 
pretty  much  the  same  affectionate,  motherly,  tender, 
that  sort  of  thing.  Take  Scott's  ladies,  and  other 
writers' — each  man  seems  to  draw  from  one  model — an 
exquisite  slave  is  what  we  want  for  the  most  part,  a 
humble,  flattering,  smiling,  child-loving,  tea-making, 
piano-forte  playing  being,  who  laughs  at  our  jokes 
however  old  they  may  be,  coaxes  and  wheedles  us  in 
our  humours,   and  fondly   lies  to   us   through   life.     1 


118  mr.  brown's  letters. 

never  could  get  your  poor  aunt  into  this  system,  though 
I  confess  I  should  have  been  a  happier  man  had  she 
tried  it. 

There  are  many  more  clever  women  in  the  world  than 
men  think  for — our  habit  is  to  despise  them  ;  we  believe 
they  do  not  think  because  they  do  not  contradict  us : 
and  are  weak  because  they  do  not  struggle  and  rise  up 
against  us.  A  man  only  begins  to  know  women  as  he 
grows  old  ;  and  for  my  part  my  opinion  of  their  clever- 
ness rises  every  day. 

When  I  say  I  know  women,  I  mean  I  know  that 
I  don't  know  them.  Every  single  woman  I  ever  knew 
is  a  puzzle  to  me,  as  I  have  no  doubt  she  is  to  herself. 
Say  they  are  not  clever  ?  Their  hypocrisy  is  a  perpetual 
marvel  to  me,  and  a  constant  exercise  of  cleverness  of 
the  finest  sort.  You  see  a  demure-looking  woman  per- 
fect in  all  her  duties,  constant  in  house-bills  and  shirt- 
buttons,  obedient  to  her  lord,  and  anxious  to  please  him 
in  all  things ;  silent,  when  you  and  he  talk  politics,  or 
literature,  or  balderdash  together,  and  if  referred  to, 
saying,  with  a  smile  of  perfect  humility,  "  Oh,  women 
are  not  judges  upon  such  and  such  matters ;  we  leave 
learning  and  politics  to  men."  "  Yes,  poor  Polly,"  says 
Jones,  patting  the  back  of  Mrs.  J.'s  head  good-naturedly, 
"  attend  to  the  house,  my  dear ;  that's  the  best  thing 
you  can  do,  and  leave  the  rest  to  us."  Benighted  idiot ! 
She  has  long  ago  taken  your  measure  and  your  friends' ; 
she  knows  your  weaknesses  and  ministers  to  them  in  a 


ON    LOVE,    MARRIAGE,    MEN,    AND    WOMEN.  113 

thousand  artful  ways.  She  knows  your  obstinate  points, 
and  marches  round  them  with  the  most  curious  art  and 
patience,  as  you  will  see  an  ant  on  a  journey  turn  round 
an  obstacle.  Every  woman  manages  her  husband  :  every 
person  who  manages  another  is  a  hypocrite./  Her  smiles, 
her  submission,  her  good-humour,  for  all  which  we  value 
her, — what  are  they  but  admirable  duplicity  ?  We  ex- 
pect falseness  from  her,  and  order  and  educate  her  to  be 
dishonest.  Should  he  upbraid,  I'll  own  that  he  prevail ; 
say  that  he  frown,  I'll  answer  with  a  smile  ; — what  are 
these  but  lies,  that  we  exact  from  our  slaves  ?  lies,  the 
dexterous  performance  of  which  we  announce  to  be  the 
female  virtues  :  brutal  Turks  that  we  are  !  I  do  not  say 
that  Mrs.  Brown  ever  obeyed  me — on  the  contrary : 
but  I  should  have  liked  it,  for  I  am  a  Turk  like  my 
neighbor. 

I  will  instance  your  mother  now.  When  my  brother 
comes  in  to  dinner  after  a  bad  day's  sport,  or  after  look- 
ing over  the  bills  of  some  of  you  boys,  he  naturally 
begins  to  be  surly  with  your  poor  dear  mother,  and  to 
growl  at  the  mutton.  What  does  she  do  ?  She  may 
be  hurt,  but  she  doesn't  show  it.  She  proceeds  to  coax, 
to  smile,  to  turn  the  conversation,  to  stroke  down  Bruin, 
and  get  him  in  a  good-humour.  She  sets  him  on  his  old 
stories,  and  she  and  all  the  girls — poor  dear  little  Sap- 
phiras  ! — set  off  laughing  ;  there  is  that  story  about 
the  Goose  walking  into  church,  which  your  father  tells, 
and  your  mother  and  sisters  laugh  at,  until  I  protest  I 


120  mr.  brown's  letters. 


am  so  ashamed  that  I  hardly  know  where  to  look.  On 
he  goes  with  that  story  time  after  time :  and  your  poor 
mother  sits  there  and  knows  that  I  know  she  is  a  hum- 
bug, and  laughs  on ;  and  teaches  all  the  girls  to  laugh  too. 
Had  that  dear  creature  been  born  to  wear  a  nose-rin^ 
and  bangles  instead  of  a  muff  and  bonnet,  and  a  brown 
skin  in  the  place  of  that  fair  one  with  which  Nature  has 
endowed  her,  she  would  have  done  Suttee,  after  your 
brown  Brahmin  father  had  died,  and  thought  women 
very  irreligious  too,  who  refused  to  roast  themselves  for 
their  masters  and  lords.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  the  late 
Mrs.  Brown  would  have  gone  through  the  process  of 
incremation  for  me — far  from  it :  by  a  timely  removal 
she  was  spared  from  the  grief  which  her  widowhood 
would  have  doubtless  caused  her,  and  I  acquiesce  in  the 
decrees  of  Fate  in  this  instance,  and  have  not  the  least 
desire  to  have  preceded  her. 

I  hope  the  ladies  will  not  take  my  remarks  in  ill 
part.  If  I  die  for  it,  I  must  own  that  I  don't  think  they 
have  fair  play.  In  the  bargain  we  make  with  then: 
I  don't  think  they  get  their  rights.  And  as  a  labourer 
notoriously  does  more  by  the  piece  than  he  does  by  the 
day,  and  a  free  man  works  harder  than  a  slave,  so  I 
doubt  whether  we  get  the  most  out  of  our  women  by 
enslaving  them  as  we  do  by  law  and  custom.  There 
are  some  folks  who  would  limit  the  ran^e  of  women's 
duties  to  little  more  than  a  kitchen  range — others  who 
like  them  to  administer  to  our  delectation  in  a  ball-room, 


ON    LOVE,    MARRIAGE,    MEN,    AND    WOMEN.  121 

and  permit  them  to  display  dimpled  shoulders  and  flow- 
ing ringlets — just  as  you  have  one  horse  for  a  mill, 
and  another  for  the  Park.  But  in  whatever  way  we 
like  them,  it  is  for  our  use  somehow  that  we  have  women 
brought  up;  to  work  for  us,  or  to  shine  for  us,  or  to 
dance  for  us,  or  what  not.  It  would  not  have  been 
thought  shame  of  our  fathers  fifty  years  ago,  that  they 
could  not  make  a  custard  or  a  pie,  but  our  mothers 
would  have  been  rebuked  had  they  been  ignorant  on 
these  matters.  Why  should  not  you  and  I  be  ashamed 
now  because  we  cannot  make  our  own  shoes,  or  cut  out 
our  own  breeches  ?  We  know  better  :  we  get  the  cob- 
blers and  tailors  to  do  that — and  it  was  we  who  made 
the  laws  for  women,  who  we  are  in  the  habit  of  saying 
are  not  so  clever  as  we  are. 

My  dear  Nephew,  as  I  grow  old  and  consider  these 
things,  I  know  which  are  the  stronger,  men  or  women ; 
but  which  are  the  cleverer,  I  doubt. 

II. 

Long  years  ago,  indeed  it  was  at  the  Peace  of  Amiens, 
when  with  several  other  young  bucks  I  was  making  the 
grand  tour,  I  recollect  how  sweet  we  all  of  us  were  upon 
the  lovely  Duchess  of  Montepulciano  at  Naples,  who 
to  be  sure  was  not  niggardly  of  her  smiles  in  return. 
There  came  a  man  amongst  us,  however,  from  London, 
a  very  handsome  young  fellow,  with  such  an  air  of  fas- 
cinating melancholy  in  his  looks,  that  he  out  out  all  the 

6 


122  mr.  brown's  letters. 


other  suitors  of  the  Duchess  in  the  course  of  a  week, 
and  would  have  married  her  very  likely,  but  that  war 
was  declared  while  this  youth  was  still  hankering  about 
his  Princess,  and  he  was  sent  off  to  Verdun,  whence  he 
did  not  emerge  for  twelve  years,  and  until  he  was  as  fat 
as  a  porpoise,  and  the  Duchess  was  long  since  married 
to  General  Count  Raff,  one  of  the  Emperor's  heroes. 
I  mention  poor  Tibbits  to  show  the  curious  difference 
of  manner  which  exists  among  us ;  and  which,  though 
not  visible  to  foreigners,  is    instantly   understood  by 
English  people.     Brave,  clever,  tall,  slim,  dark,  and  sen- 
timental looking,  he  passed  muster  in  a  foreign  saloon, 
and  as  I  must  own  to  you,  cut  us  fellows  out :  whereas 
we  English  knew  instantly  that  the  man  was  not  well 
bred,  by  a  thousand  little  signs,  not  to  be  understood  by 
the  foreigner.     In  his  early  youth,  for  instance,  he  had 
been  cruelly  deprived  of  his  h's  by  his  parents,  and 
though  he  tried  to  replace  them  in  after  life,  they  were 
no  more  natural  than  a  glass  eye,  but  stared  at  you  as 
it  were  in  a  ghastly  manner  out  of  the  conversation,  and 
pained  you  by  their  horrid  intrusions.     Not  acquainted 
with  these  refinements  of  our  language,  foreigners  did 
not  understand  what  Tibbits'  errors  were,  and  doubtlesb 
thought  it  was  from  envy  that  we  conspired  to  slight  the 
poor  fellow. 

I  mention  Mr.  Tibbits,  because  he  was  handsome, 
clever,  honest,  and  brave,  and  in  almost  all  respects  our 
superior ;  and  yet  laboured  under  disadvantages  of  man- 


ON    LOVE,    MARRIAGE,    MEN,    AND    WOMEN.  123 

ner  which  unfitted  him  for  certain  society.     It  is  not 
Tibbits  the  man,  it  is  not  Tibbits  the  citizen,  of  whom 
I  would  wish  to  speak  lightly ;  his  morals,  his  reading, 
his  courage,  his  generosity,  his  talents  are  undoubted — 
it  is  the  social  Tibbits  of  whom  I  speak  :  and  as  I  do 
not  go  to  balls,  because  I  do  not  dance,  or  to  meetings 
of  the  Political  Economy  Club,  or  other  learned  associa- 
tions, because  taste  and  education  have  not  fitted  me  for 
the  pursuits  for  which   other  persons  are  adapted,  so 
Tibbits'  sphere  is  not  in  drawing-rooms,  where  the  A, 
and  other  points  of  etiquette,  are  rigorously  maintained. 
I  say  thus  much  because  one  or  two  people  have 
taken  some  remarks  of  mine  in  ill  part,  and  hinted  that 
I  am  a  Tory  in  disguise  :  and  an  aristocrat  that  should 
be  hung  up  to  a  lamp-post.     Not  so,  dear  Bob  ; — there 
is  nothing  like  the  truth,  about  whomsoever  it  may  be. 
T  mean  no  more  disrespect  towards  any  fellow-man  by 
saying  that  he  is  not  what  is  called  in  Society  well-bred, 
than  by  stating  that  he  is  not  tall  or  short,  or  that  he 
cannot  dance,  or  that  he   does  not  know  Hebrew,  or 
whatever  the  case  may  be.     I  mean  that  if  a  man  works 
with  a  pickaxe  or  shovel  all  day,  his  hands  will  be 
harder  than  those  of  a  lady  of  fashion,  and  that  his 
opinion  about  Madame  Sontag's  singing,  or  the   last 
new  novel,  will  not  probably  be  of  much  value.     And 
though  I  own  my  conviction  that  there  are  some  ani- 
mals  which  frisk    advantageously   in  ladies'   drawing- 
rooms,  whilst  others  pull  stoutly  at  the  plough,  I  do  not 


124  mr.  brown's  letters. 


most  certainly  mean  to  reflect  upon  a  horse  for  not  being 
a  lap-dog,  or  see  that  he  has  any  cause  to  be  ashamed 
that  he  is  other  than  a  horse. 

And,  in  a  word,  and  as  you  are  what  is  called  a  gen- 
tleman yourself,  I  hope  that  Mrs.  Bob  Brown,  whoever 
she  may  be,  is  not  only  by  nature,  but  by  education,  a 
gentlewoman.  No  man  ought  ever  to  be  called  upon 
to  blush  for  his  wife.  I  see  good  men  rush  into  mar- 
riage with  ladies  of  whom  they  are  afterwards  ashamed ; 
and  in  the  same  manner  charming  women  linked  to 
partners,  whose  vulgarity  they  try  to  screen.  Poor 
Mrs.  Botibol,  what  a  constant  hypocrisy  your  life  is, 
and  how  you  insist  upon  informing  everybody  that 
Botibol  is  the  best  of  men  !  Poor  Jack  Jinkins  !  what 
a  female  is  that  you  brought  back  from  Bagnigge  Wells 
to  introduce  to  London  society !  a  handsome,  tawdry, 
flaunting,  watering-place  belle ;  a  boarding-house  beauty : 
tremendous  in  brazen  ornaments  and  cheap  finery. 

If  you  marry,  dear  Bob,  I  hope  Mrs.  Robert  B.  will 
be  a  lady  not  very  much  above  or  below  your  own 
station. 

I  would  sooner  that  you  should  promote  your  wife 
than  that  she  should  advance  you.  And  though  every 
man  can  point  you  out  instances  where  his  friends  have 
been  married  to  ladies  of  superior  rank,  who  have 
accepted  their  new  position  with  perfect  grace,  and  made 
their  husbands  entirely  happy ;  as  there  are  examples 
of  maid-servants  decorating  coronets,  and  sempstresses 


ON    LOVE,    MARRIAGE,    MEN,    AND    WOMEN.  125 

presiding  worthily  over  Baronial  Halls ;  yet  I  hope 
Mrs.  Robert  Brown  will  not  come  out  of  a  palace  or  a 
kitchen :  but  out  of  a  house  something  like  yours,  out 
of  a  family  something  like  yours,  with  a  snug  jointure 
something  like  that  modest  portion  which  I  dare  say 
vou  will  inherit. 

I  remember  when  Arthur  Rowdy  (who  I  need  not 
tell  you  belongs  to  the  firm  of  Stumpy,  Rowdy  &  Co., 
of  Lombard  Street,  Bankers,)  married  Lady  Cleopa- 
tra ;  what  a  grand  match  it  was  thought  by  the  Rowdy 
family :  and  how  old  Mrs.  Rowdy  in  Portman  Square, 
was  elated  at  the  idea  of  her  son's  new  connexion.  Her 
daughters  were  to  go  to  all  the  parties  in  London ;  and 
her  house  was  to  be  filled  with  the  very  greatest  of 
great  folks.  We  heard  of  nothing  but  dear  Lady  Stone- 
henge  from  morning  till  night ;  and  the  old  frequenters 
of  the  house  were  perfectly  pestered  with  stories  of  dear 
Lady  Zenobia  and  dear  Lady  Cornelia,  and  of  the 
dear  Marquis,  whose  masterly  translation  of  Cornelius 
Nepos  had  placed  him  among  the  most  learned  of  our 
nobility. 

When  Rowdy  went  to  live  in  May  Fair,  what  a 
wretched  house  it  was  into  which  he  introduced  such  of 
his  friends  as  were  thought  worthy  of  presentation  to 
his  new  society !  The  rooms  were  filled  with  young 
dandies  of  the  Stonehenge  connexion — beardless  bucks 
from  Downing  Street,  gay  young  sprigs  of  the  Guards — 
theii   sisters  and  mothers,  their  kith  and  kin.     They 


126  mr.  brown's  letters. 

overdrew  their  accounts  at  Rowdy's  Bank,  and  laughed 
at  him  in  his  drawing-room ;  they  made  their  bets  and 
talked  their  dandy  talk  over  his  claret,  at  which  the 
poor  fellow  sate  quite  silent.  Lady  Stonehenge  inva- 
ded his  nursery,  appointed  and  cashiered  his  governess 
and  children's  maids  ;  established  her  apothecary  in  per- 
manence over  him :  quarrelled  with  old  Mrs.  Rowdy,  so 
that  the  poor  old  body  was  only  allowed  to  see  her 
grandchildren  by  stealth,  and  have  secret  interviews 
with  them  in  the  garden  of  Berkeley  Square;  made 
Rowdy  take  villas  at  Tunbridge,  which  she  filled  with 
her  own  family ;  massacred  her  daughter's  visiting-book, 
in  the  which  Lady  Cleopatra,  a  good-natured  woman, 
at  first  admitted  some  of  her  husband's  relatives  and 
acquaintance ;  and  carried  him  abroad  upon  excursions, 
in  which  all  he  had  to  do  was  to  settle  the  bills  with  the 
courier.  And  she  went  so  far  as  to  order  him  to  change 
his  side  of  the  house  and  his  politics,  and  adopt 
those  of  Lord  Stonehenge,  which  were  of  the  age 
of  the  Druids,  his  lordship's  ancestors ; — but  here 
the  honest  British  merchant  made  a  stand  and  con- 
quered his  mother-in-law,  who  would  have  smothered 
him  the  other  day  for  voting  for  Rothschild.  If  it 
were  not  for  the  Counting  House  in  the  morning  and 
the  House  of  Commons  at  night,  what  would  become  of 
Rowdy  ?  They  say  he  smokes  there,  and  drinks  when 
he  smokes.  He  has  been  known  to  go  to  Vauxhall,  and 
has  even  been  seen,  with  a  comforter  over  his  nose,  lis- 


ON    LOVE,    MARRIAGE,    MEN,    AND    WOM^N.  12*7 

tening  to  Sam  Hall  at  the  Cider  Cellars.  All  this  misery 
and  misfortune  came  to  the  poor  fellow  for  marrying 
out  of  his  degree.  The  clerks  at  Lombard  Street  laugh 
when  Lord  Misletoe  steps  out  of  his  cab  and  walks 
into  the  bank-parlour;  and  Rowdy's  private  account 
invariably  tells  tales  of  the  visit  of  his  young  scapegrace 
of  a  brother-in-law. 

III. 

Let  us  now,  beloved  and  ingenuous  youth,  take  the 
other  side  of  the  question,  and  discourse  a  little  while 
upon  the  state  of  that  man  who  takes  unto  himself  a 
wife  inferior  to  him  in  degree.  I  have  before  me  in  my 
acquaintance  many  most  pitiable  instances  of  indivi- 
duals who  have  made  this  fatal  mistake. 

Although  old  fellows  are  as  likely  to  be  made  fools 
as  young  in  love  matters,  and  Dan  Cupid  has  no 
respect  for  the  most  venerable  age,  yet  I  remark  that  it 
is  generally  the  young  men  who  marry  vulgar  wives. 
They  are  on  a  reading  tour  for  the  Long  Vacation,  they 
are  quartered  at  Ballinafad,  they  see  Miss  Smith  or 
Miss  O'Shaughnessy  every  day,  healthy  lively  jolly 
girls  with  red  cheeks,  bright  eyes,  and  high  spirits — 
they  come  away  at  the  end  of  the  vacation,  or  when  the 
regiment  changes  its  quarters,  engaged  men,  family  rows 
ensue,  mothers  cry  out,  papas  grumble,  Miss  pines  and 
loses  her  health  at  Baymouth  or  Ballinafad — consent  is 
got  at  last,  Jones  takes  his  degree,  Jenkins  gets  his 


128  mr.  brown's  letters. 

company ;  Miss  Smith  and  Miss  O'Shaughnessy  be- 
come Mrs.  Jones  and  Mrs.  Jenkins. 

For  the  first  year  it  is  all  very  well.  Mrs.  Jones  is 
a  great  bouncing  handsome  creature,  lavishly  fond  of 
her  adored  Jones,  and  caring  for  no  other  company  but 
his.  They  have  a  cottage  at  Bayswater.  He  walks  her 
out  every  evening.  He  sits  and  reads  the  last  new 
novel  to  her  whilst  she  works  slippers  for  him,  or  makes 
some  little  tiny  caps,  and  for — dear  Julia,  deai 
Edward  ! — they  are  all  in  all  to  one  another. 

Old  Mrs.  Smith  of  course  comes  up  from  Swansea  at 
the  time  when  the  little  caps  are  put  into  requisition, 
and  takes  possession  of  the  cottage  at  Bayswater.  Mrs. 
Jones,  Senior,  calls  upon  Mrs.  Edward  Jones's  Mamma, 
and,  of  course,  is  desirous  to  do  everything  that  is  civil 
to  the  family  of  Edward's  wife. 

Mrs.  Jones  finds  in  the  mother-in-law  of  her 
Edward  a  large  woman  with  a  cotton  umbrella,  who 
dines  in  the  middle  of  the  day,  and  has  her  beer,  and 
who  calls  Mrs.  Jones  Mum.  What  a  state  they  are 
in  Pocklington  Square  about  this  woman !  how  can 
they  be  civil  to  her  ?  whom  can  they  ask  to  meet  her  ? 
How  the  girls,  Edward's  sisters,  go  on  about  her ! 
Fanny  says  she  ought  to  be  shown  to  the  housekeeper's 
room  when  she  calls ;  Mart  proposes  that  Mrs.  Shay 
the  washerwoman  should  be  invited  on  the  day  when 
Mrs.  Smith  comes  to  dinner,  and  Emma  (who  was 
Edward's  favourite  sister,  and  who   considers  herself 


ON    LOVE,    MARRIAGE,    MEN,    AND    WOMEN.  129 

jilted  by  his  marriage  with  Julia)  points  ont  the  most 
dreadful  thing  of  all,  that  Mrs.  Smith  and  Julia  are 
exactly  alike,  and  that  in  a  few  years,  Mrs.  Edward 
Jones  will  be  the  very  image  of  that  great  enormous 
unwieldy  horrid  old  woman. 

Closeted  with  her  daughter,  of  whom  and  of  her  baby 
she  has  taken  possession,  Mrs.  Smith  gives  her  opinion 
about  the  Joneses  : — They  may  be  very  good,  but  they 
are  too  fine  ladies  for  her  ;  and  they  evidently  think  she 
is  not  good  enough  for  them :  they  are  sad  worldly 
people,  and  have  never  sate  under  a  good  minister,  that 
is  clear :  they  talked  French  before  her  on  the  day  she 
called  in  Pocklington  Gardens,  and  though  they  were 
laughing  at  me,  I'm  sure  I  can  pardon  them,  Mrs. 
Smith  says.  Edward  and  Julia  have  a  little  alterca- 
tion about  the  manner  in  which  his  family  has  treated 
Mrs.  Smith,  and  Julia  bursting  into  tears  as  she  clasps 
her  child  to  her  bosom,  says,  "  My  child,  my  child,  will 
you  be  taught  to  be  ashamed  of  your  mother !" 

Edward  flings  out  of  the  room  in  a  rage.  It  is  true 
that  Mrs.  Smith  is  not  fit  to  associate  with  his  family, 
and  that  her  manners  are  not  like  theirs ;  that  Julia's 
eldest  brother,  who  is  a  serious  tanner  at  Cardiff,  is  not 
a  pleasant  companion  after  dinner :  and  that  it  is  not 
agreeable  to  be  called  "  Ned"  and  "  Old  Cove"  by  her 
younger  brother,  who  is  an  attorney's  clerk  in  Gray's 
Inn,  and  favours  Ned  by  asking  him  to  lend  him  "a 
Sov.,"  and  by  coming  to  dinner  on  Sundays.     It  is  true 

6* 


130  mr.  brown's  letters. 

that  the  appearance  of  that  youth  at  the  first  little  party 
the  Edward  Jones's  gave  after  their  marriage,  when 
Natty  disgracefully  inebriated  himself,  caused  no  little 
scandal  amongst  his  friends,  and  much  wrath  on  the 
part  of  Old  Jones,  who  said,  "  That  little  scamp  call  my 
daughters  by  their  Christian  names ! — a  little  beggar 
that  is  not  fit  to  sit  down  in  my  hall — If  ever  he  dares 
to  call  at  my  house  I'll  tell  Jobbins  to  fling  a  pail  of 
water  over  him."  And  it  is  true  that  Natty  called 
many  times  in  PocMington  Square,  and  complained  to 
Edward  that  he,  Nat,  could  neither  see  his  Mar  nor  the 
Gurls,  and  that  the  old  gent  cut  up  uncommon  stiff. 

So  you  see  Edward  Jones  has  had  nis  way,  and  got 
a  handsome  wife,  but  at  what  expense  ?  He  and  his 
family  are  separated.  His  wife  brought  him  nothing 
but  good  looks.  Her  stock  of  brains  is  small.  She  is 
not  easy  in  the  new  society  into  which  she  has  been 
brought,  and  sits  quite  mum  both  at  the  grand  parties 
which  the  Old  Jones's  give  in  Pocklington  Square,  and 
at  the  snug  little  entertainments  which  poor  Edward 
Jones  tries  on  his  own  part.  The  women  of  the  Jones's 
set  try  her  in  every  way,  and  can  get  no  good  from  her : 
Jones's  male  friends,  who  are  civilised  beings,  talk  to 
her,  and  receive  only  monosyllables  in  reply.  His  house 
is  a  stupid  one  ;  his  acquaintances  drop  off ;  he  has  no 
circle  at  all  at  last,  except  to  be  sure  that  increasing 
family  circle  which  brings  up  old  Mrs.  Smith  from 
Swansea  every  year. 


ON    LOVE,    MARRIAGE,    MEN,    AND    WOMEN.  131 


What  is  the  lot  of  a  man  at  the  end  of  a  dozen  years 
who  has  a  wife  like  this  ?  She  is  handsome  no  longer, 
and  she  never  had  any  other  merit.  He  can't  read 
novels  to  her  all  through  his  life,  while  she  is  working 
slippers — it  is  absurd.  He  can't  be  philandering  in 
Kensington  Gardens  with  a  lady  who  does  not  walk  out 
now  except  with  two  nursemaids  and  the  twins  in  a  go- 
cart.  He  is  a  young  man  still,  when  she  is  an  old  wo- 
man. Love  is  a  mighty  fine  thing,  dear  Bob,  but  it  is 
not  the  life  of  a  man.  There  are  a  thousand  other  things 
for  him  to  think  of  besides  the  red  lips  of  Lucy,  or  the 
bright  eyes  of  Eliza.  There  is  business,  there  is  friend- 
ship, there  is  society,  there  are  taxes,  there  is  ambition, 
and  the  manly  desire  to  exercise  the  talents  which  are 
given  us  by  Heaven,  and  reap  the  prize  of  our  desert. 
There  are  other  books  in  a  man's  library  besides  Ovid  ; 
and  after  dawdling  ever  so  long  at  a  woman's  knee,  one 
day  he  gets  up  and  is  free.  We  have  all  been  there  : 
we  have  all  had  the  fever  :  the  strongest  and  the  small- 
est, from  Sampson,  Hercules,  Rinaldo,  downwards ; 
but  it  burns  out,  and  you  get  well. 

Ladies  who  read  this,  and  who  know  what  a  love  I 
have  for  the  whole  sex,  will  not,  I  hope,  cry  out  at  the 
above  observations,  or  be  angry  because  I  state  that  the 
ardour  of  love  declines  after  a  certain  period.  My  dear 
Mns.  Hopkins,  you  would  not  have  Hopkins  to  carry 
on  the  same  absurd  behaviour  which  he  exhibited  when 
he  was  courting  you  ?  or  in  place  of  going  to  bed  and 


132  MR.  brown's  letters. 

to  sleep  comfortably,  sitting  up  half  the  night  to  write 
to  you  bad  verses  ?  You  would  not  have  him  racked 
with  jealousy  if  you  danced  or  spoke  with  any  one  else 
at  a  ball ;  or  neglect  all  his  friends,  his  business,  his  in- 
terest in  life,  in  order  to  dangle  at  your  feet  ?  No,  you 
are  a  sensible  woman  ;  you  know  that  he  must  go  to 
his  counting-house,  that  he  must  receive  and  visit  his 
friends,  and  that  he  must  attend  to  his  and  your  interest 
in  life.  You  are  no  longer  his  goddess,  his  fairy,  his 
peerless  paragon,  whose  name  he  shouted  as  Don  Quix- 
ote did  that  of  Dulcinea.  You  are  Jane  Hopkins,  you 
are  thirty  years  old,  you  have  got  a  parcel  of  children, 
and  Hop  loves  you  and  them  with  all  his  heart.  He 
would  be  a  helpless  driveller  and  ninny  were  he  to  be 
honeymooning  still,  whereas  he  is  a  good  honest  fellow, 
respected  on  'Change,  liked  by  his  friends,  and  famous 
for  his  Port  wine. 

Yes,  Bob,  the  fever  goes,  but  the  wife  doesn't.  Long 
after  your  passion  is  over,  Mrs.  Brown  will  be  at  your 
side,  good  soul,  still ;  and  it  is  for  that,  as  I  trust,  long 
subsequent  period  of  my  worthy  Bob's  life,  that  I  am 
anxious.  How  will  she  look  when  the  fairy  brilliancy 
of  the  honeymoon  has  faded  into  the  light  of  common 
day? 

You  are  of  a  jovial  and  social  turn,  and  like  to  see 
the  world,  as  why  should  you  not  ?  It  contains  a  great 
number  of  kind  and  honest  folks,  from  whom  you  may 
hear  a  thousand  things  wise  and  pleasant.     A  man 


ON    LOVE,    MARRIAGE,    MEN      AND    WOMEN.  133 

ought  to  like  his  neighbours,  to  mix  with  his  neighbours, 
to  be  popular  with  his  neighbours.  It  is  a  friendly  heart 
that  has  plenty  of  friends.  You  can't  be  talking  to  Mrs. 
Brown  for  ever  and  ever  :  you  will  be  a  couple  of  old 
geese  if  you  do. 

She  ought  then  to  be  able  to  make  your  house  plea- 
sant to  your  friends.  She  ought  to  attract  them  to  it 
by  her  grace,  her  good  breeding,  her  good  humour.  Let 
it  be  said  of  her,  "  What  an  uncommonly  nice  woman 
Mrs.  Brown  is."  Let  her  be,  if  not  a  clever  woman, 
an  appreciator  of  cleverness  in  others,  which  perhaps 
clever  folks  like  better.  Above  all,  let  her  have  a  sense 
of  humour,  my  dear  Bob,  for  a  woman  without  a  laugh 
in  Her  (like  the  late  excellent  Mrs.  Brown)  is  the  great- 
est bore  in  existence.  Life  without  laughing  is  a  dreary 
blank.  A  woman  who  cannot  laugh  is  a  wet  blanket 
on  the  kindly  nuptial  couch.  A  good  laugh  is  sunshine 
in  a  house.  A  quick  intelligence,  a  brightening  eye,  a 
kind  smile,  a  cheerful  spirit, — these  I  hope  Mrs.  Bob 
will  bring  to  you  in  her  trousseau,  to  be  used  afterwards 
for  daily  wear.  Before  all  things,  my  dear  nephew,  try 
and  have  a  cheerful  wife. 

What,  indeed,  does  not  that  word  "  cheerfulness  " 
imply  ?  It  means  a  contented  spirit,  it  means  a  pure 
heart,  it  means  a  kind  and  loving  disposition,  it  means 
humility  and  charity,  it  means  a  generous  appreciation 
of  others,  and  a  modest  opinion  of  self.  Stupid  people, 
people  who  do  not  know  how  to  laugh,  are  always  pom- 


134  mr.  brown's  letters. 

pous  and  self-conceited,  that  is,  bigoted  ;  that  is,  cruel ; 
that  is,  ungentle,  uncharitable,  unchristian.  Have  a 
good,  jolly,  laughing,  kind  woman,  then,  for  your  part- 
ner, you  who  are  yourself  a  kind  and  jolly  fellow  ;  and 
when  you  go  to  sleep,  and  when  you  wake,  I  pray  there 
may  be  a  smile  under  each  of  your  honest  nightcaps. 


ON    FRIENDSHIP.  135 


ON  FRIENDSHIP. 


The  other  day  I  saw  you  walking  by  the  Serpentine 
with  young  Lord  Foozle,  of  the  Windsor  Heavies, 
who  nodded  to  all  sort  of  suspicious  broughams  on  the 
ride,  while  you  looked  about  (you  know  you  did,  you 
young  rascal)  for  acquaintances — as  much  as  to  say — 
"  See  !  here  am  I,  Bob  Brown,  of  Pump  Court,  walking 
with  a  lord." 

My  dear  Bob,  I  own  that  to  walk  with  a  lord,  and  to 
be  seen  with  him,  is  a  pleasant  thing.  Every  man  of 
the  middle  class  likes  to  know  persons  of  rank.  If  he 
says  he  don't — don't  believe  him.  And  I  would 
certainly  wish  that  you  should  associate  with  your 
superiors  rather  than  your  inferiors.  There  is  no  more 
dangerous  or  stupifying  position  for  a  man  in  life  than 
to  be  cock  of  a  small  society.  It  prevents  his  ideas  from 
growing :  it  renders  him  intolerably  conceited.  A  two- 
penny halfpenny  Caesar,  a  Brummagem  dandy,  a  coterie 
philosopher  or  wit,  is  pretty  sure  to  be  an  ass ;  and,  in 
fine,  I  set  it  down  as  a  maxim  that  it  is  good  for  a  man 
to  live  where  he  can  meet  his  betters,  intellectual  and 
social 


136  mr.  brown's  letters. 

But  if  you  fancy  that  getting  into  Lord  Foozle's  set 
will  do  you  good  or  advance  your  prospects  in  life,  my 
dear  Bob,  you  are  wofully  mistaken.  The  Windsoi 
Heavies  are  a  most  gentlemanlike,  well-made,  and  use- 
ful set  of  men.  The  conversation  of  such  of  them  as  J 
have  had  the  good  fortune  to  meet,  has  not  certainly 
inspired  me  with  a  respect  for  their  intellectual  qualities, 
nor  is  their  life  commonly  of  that  kind  which  rigid 
ascetics  would  pronounce  blameless.  Some  of  the 
young  men  amongst  them  talk  to  the  broughams,  fre- 
quent the  private  boxes,  dance  at  the  casinos  ;  few  read 
— many  talk  about  horseflesh  and  the  odds  after  dinner, 
or  relax  with  a  little  lansquenet  or  a  little  billiards  at 
Pratt's. 

My  boy,  it  is  not  with  the  eye  of  a  moralist  that  your 
venerable  old  uncle  examines  these  youths,  but  rather 
of  a  natural  philosopher,  who  inspects  them  as  he  would 
any  other  phenomenon,  or  queer  bird,  or  odd  fish,  or 
fine  flower.  These  fellows  are  like  the  flowers,  and 
neither  toil  nor  spin,  but  are  decked  out  in  magnificent 
apparel:  and  for  some  wise  and  useful  purpose,  no 
doubt.  It  is  good  that  there  should  be  honest,  hand- 
some, hard-living,  hard-riding,  stupid  young  Windsor 
Heavies — as  that  there  should  be  polite  young  gentle- 
men in  the  Temple,  or  any  other  variety  of  our  genus. 

And  it  is  good  that  you  should  go  from  time  to  time 
to  the  Heavies'  mess,  if  they  ask  you ;  and  know  that 
worthy  set  of  gentlemen.     But  beware,  O  Bob,  how 


ON    FRIENDSHIP.  137 


you  live  with  them.  Remember  that  your  lot  in  life  is 
to  toil,  and  spin  too — and  calculate  how  much  time  it 
takes  a  Heavy  or  a  man  of  that  condition  to  do  nothing. 
Say,  he  dines  at  8  o'clock,  and  spends  seven  hours 
after  dinner  in  pleasure.  Well,  if  he  goes  to  bed  at  3 
in  the  morning — that  precious  youth  must  have  nine 
hours'  sleep,  which  bring  him  to  12  o'clock  next  day, 
when  he  will  have  a  headache  probably,  so  that  he  can 
hardly  be  expected  to  dress,  rally,  have  devilled  chicken 
and  pale  ale,  and  get  out  before  3.  Friendship — the  Club 
— the  visits  which  he  is  compelled  to  pay,  occupy  him 
till  5  or  6,  and  what  time  is  there  left  for  exercise  and 
a  ride  in  the  Park,  and  for  a  second  toilette  preparatory 
to  dinner,  <fcc.  ? — He  goes  on  his  routine  of  pleasure, 
this  young  Heavy,  as  you  in  yours  of  duty — one  man 
in  London  is  pretty  nearly  as  busy  as  another.  The 
company  of  young  "  Swells,"  then,  if  you  will  permit 
me  the  word,  is  not  for  you.  You  must  consider  that 
you  should  not  spend  more  than  a  certain  sum  for  your 
dinner — they  need  not.  You  wear  a  black  coat,  and 
they  a  shining  cuirass  and  monstrous  epaulets.  Yours 
is  the  useful  part  in  life  and  theirs  the  splendid — though 
why  speak  farther  on  this  subject  ?  Since  the  days  of 
the  Frog  and  the  Bull,  a  desire  to  cope  with  Bulk  has 
been  known  to  be  fatal  to  Frogs. 

And  to  know  young  noblemen,  and  brilliant  and 
notorious  town  bucks  and  leaders  of  fashion,  has  this 
great  disadvantage — that,  if  you  talk  about  them  or  are 


138  mr.  brown's  letters. 

seen  with  them  much,  you  offend  all  your  friends  of 
middle  life.  It  makes  men  angry  to  see  their  acquaint- 
ances better  off  than  they  themselves  are.  If  you  live 
much  with  great  people,  others  will  be  sure  to  say  that 
you  are  a  sneak.  I  have  known  Jack  Jolliff,  whose 
fun  and  spirits  made  him  adored  by  the  dandies  (for 
they  are  just  such  folks  as  you  and  I,  only  with  not 
quite  such  good  brains,  and  perhaps  better  manners — 
simple  folks  who  want  to  be  amused) — I  have  known 
Jack  Jolliff,  I  say,  offend  a  whole  roomfull  of  men  by 
telling  us  that  he  had  been  dining  with  a  Duke.  We 
hadn't  been  to  dine  with  a  Duke.  We  were  not  courted 
by  grandees — and  we  disliked  the  man  who  was,  and 
said  he  was  a  parasite,  because  men  of  fashion  courted 
him.  I  don't  know  any  means  by  which  men  hurt 
themselves  more  in  the  estimation  of  their  equals  than 
this  of  talking  of  great  folks.  A  man  may  mean  no 
harm  by  it — he  speaks  of  the  grandees  with  whom  he 
lives,  as  you  and  I  do  of  Jones  or  Smith  who  give  us 
dinners.  But  his  old  acquaintances  do  not  forgive  him 
his  superiority,  and  set  the  Tufthunted  down  as  the 
Tufthunter. 

I  remember  laughing  at  the  jocular  complaint 
made  by  one  of  this  sort,  a  friend,  whom  I  shall  call 
Main.  After  Main  published  his  "  Travels  in  the 
Libyan  Desert"  four  years  ago,  he  became  a  literal-}' 
lion,  and  roared  in  many  of  the  metropolitan  salons. 
He  is  a  good-natured  fellow,  never  in  the  least  puffed 


ON    FRIENDSHIP.  189 


up  by  his  literary  success ;  and  always  said  that  it 
would  not  last.  His  greatest  leonine  quality,  however, 
is  his  appetite  ;  and  to  behold  him  engaged  on  a  Club 
joint,  or  to  see  him  make  away  with  pounds  of  turbot, 
and  plate  after  plate  of  entrees,  roasts,  and  sweets,  is 
indeed  a  remarkable  sight,  and  refreshing  to  those  who 
like  to  watch  animals  feeding.  But  since  Main  has 
gone  out  of,  and  other  authors  have  come  into,  fashion 
— the  poor  fellow  comically  grumbles.  "  That  year  of 
lionisation  has  ruined  me.  The  people  who  used  to 
ask  me  before,  don't  ask  me  any  more.  They  are 
afraid  to  invite  me  to  Bloomsbury,  because  they  fancy  I 
am  accustomed  to  May  Fair,  and  May  Fair  has  long 
since  taken  up  with  a  new  roarer — so  that  I  am  quite 
alone !"  And  thus  he  dines  at  the  Club  almost  every 
day  at  his  own  charges  now,  and  attacks  the  joint.  I 
dc  not  envy  the  man  who  comes  after  him  to  the 
haunch  of  mutton. 

If  Fate,  then,  my  dear  Bob,  should  bring  you  in  con- 
tact with  a  lord  or  two,  eat  their  dinners,  enjoy  their 
company,  but  be  mum  about  them  when  you  go  away. 

And,  though  it  is  a  hard  and  cruel  thing  to  say,  I 
would  urge  you,  my  dear  Bob,  specially  to  beware  of 
taking  pleasant  fellows  for  your  friends.  Choose  a  good 
disagreeable  friend,  if  you  be  wise — a*  surly,  steady,  eco- 
nomical, rigid  fellow.  All  jolly  fellows,  all  delights  of 
Club  smoking-rooms  and  billiard-rooms,  all  fellows  whc 
sing  a  capital  song,  and  the  like,  are  sure  to  be  poor, 


140  mr.  brown's  letters. 

As  they  are  free  with  their  own  money,  so  will  they  be 
with  yours ;  and  their  very  generosity  and  goodness  of 
disposition  will  prevent  them  from  having  the  means  of 
paying  you  back.  They  lend  their  money  to  some 
other  jolly  fellows.  They  accommodate  each  other  by 
putting  their  jolly  names  to  the  backs  of  jolly  bills. 
Gentlemen  in  Cursitor  Street  are  on  the  look-out  for 
them.  Their  tradesmen  ask  for  them,  and  find  them 
not.  Ah  !  Bob,  it's  hard  times  with  a  gentleman,  when 
he  has  to  walk  round  a  street  for  fear  of  meeting  a  cre- 
ditor there,  and  for  a  man  of  courage,  when  he  can't 
look  a  tailor  in  the  face. 

Eschew  jolly  fellows  then,  my  boy,  as  the  most  dan- 
gerous and  costly  of  company ;  and  apropos  of  bills — 
if  I  ever  hear  of  your  putting  your  name  to  stamped 
paper — I  will  disown  you,  and  cut  you  off  with  a  pro- 
tested shilling. 

I  know  many  men  who  say  (whereby  I  have  my  pri- 
vate opinion  of  their  own  probity)  that  all  poor  people 
are  dishonest :  this  is  a  hard  word,  though  more  gene- 
rally true  than  some  folks  suppose — but  I  fear  that  all 
people  much  in  debt  are  not  honest.  A  man  who  has 
to  wheedle  a  tradesman  is  not  going  through  a  very 
honourable  business  in  life — a  man  with  a  bill  becoming 
due  to-morrow  morning,  and  putting  a  good  face  on  it 
in  the  Club,  is  perforce  a  hypocrite  whilst  he  is  talking 
to  you — a  man  who  has  to  do  any  meanness  about 
money  I  fear  me  is  so  nearly  like  a  rogue,  that  it's  not 


ON    FRIENDSHIP.  141 


much  use  calculating  where  the  difference  lies.  Let  us 
be  very  gentle  with  our  neighbours'  failings ;  and  for- 
give our  friends  their  debts,  as  we  hope  ourselves  to  be 
forgiven.  But  the  best  thing  of  all  to  do  with  your  debts 
is  to  pay  them.  Make  none  ;  and  don't  live  with  people 
who  do.  Why,  if  I  dine  with  a  man  who  is  notoriously 
living  beyond  his  means,  I  am  a  hypocrite  certainly 
myself,  and  I  fear  a  bit  of  a  rogue  too.  I  try  to  make 
my  host  believe  that  I  believe  him  an  honest  fellow.  I 
look  his  sham  splendour  in  the  face  without  saying, 
"  You  are  an  impostor." — Alas,  Robert,  I  have  partaken 
of  feasts  where  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  plate,  the 
viands,  the  wine,  the  servants,  and  butlers,  were  all  sham, 
like  Cinderella's  coach  and  footmen,  and  would  turn 
into  rats  and  mice,  and  an  old  shoe  or  a  cabbage-stalk, 
as  soon  as  we  were  out  of  the  house  and  the  clock 
struck  12. 


142  mr.  brown's  letters. 


OUT  OF  TOWN. 


I. 
I  have  little  news,  my  dear  Bob,  wherewith  to  entertain 
thee  from  this  city,  from  which  almost  everybody  has 
fled  within  the  last  week,  and  which  lies  in  a  state  of 
torpor.  I  wonder  what  the  newspapers  find  to  talk 
about  day  after  day,  and  how  they  come  out  every 
morning.  But  for  a  little  distant  noise  of  cannonading 
from  the  Danube  and  the  Theiss,  the  whole  world  is 
silent,  and  London  seems  to  have  hauled  down  her  flag, 
as  Her  Majesty  has  done  at  Pimlico,  and  the  Queen 
of  cities  has  gone  out  of  town. 

You,  in  pursuit  of  Miss  Kicklebury,  are  probably  by 
this  time  at  Spa  or  Hamburg.  Watch  her  well,  Bob, 
and  see  what  her  temper  is  like.  See  whether  she  flirts 
with  the  foreigners  much,  examine  how  she  looks  of  a 
morning  (you  will  have  a  hundred  opportunities  of 
familiarity,  and  can  drop  in  and  out  of  a  friend's  apart- 
ments at  a  German  watering  place  as  you  never  can 
hope  to  do  here),  examine  her  conduct  with  her  little 
sisters,  if  they  are  of  the  party,  whether  she  is  good  and 
playful  with  them,  see  whether  she  is  cheerful  and  obe 


OUT    OF    TOWN.  143 


dient  to  old  Lady  Kick  (I  acknowledge  a  hard  task) — 
in  fine,  try  her  manners  and  temper,  and  see  whether 
she  wears  them  all  day,  and  only  puts  on  her  smiles 
with  her  fresh  bonnet,  to  come  out  on  the  parade  at 

music  time.     I,  meanwhile,  remain  behind,  alone  in  our 

> 

airy  and  great  Babylon. 

As  an  old  soldier  when  he  gets  to  his  ground  begins 
straightway  a  se  caser  as  the  French  say,  makes  the 
most  of  his  circumstances,  and  himself  as  comfortable  as 
he  can,  an  old  London  man,  if  obliged  to  pass  the  dull 
season  in  town,  accommodates  himself  to  the  time,  and 
forages  here  and  there  in  the  deserted  city,  and  manages 
to  make  his  own  tent  snug.  A  thousand  means  of  com- 
fort and  amusement  spring  up,  whereof  a  man  has  no 
idea  of  the  existence,  in  the  midst  of  the  din  and  racket 
of  the  London  season.  I,  for  my  part,  am  grown  to  that 
age,  Sir,  when  I  like  the  quiet  time  the  best :  the  gaiety 
of  the  great  London  season  is  too  strong  and  noisy  for 
me ;  I  like  to  talk  to  my  beloved  metropolis  when  she. 
has  done  dancing  at  crowded  balls,  and  squeezing  at 
concerts,  and  chattering  at  conversaziones,  and  gorging 
at  great  dinners — when  she  is  calm,  contemplative,  con- 
fidential, and  at  leisure. 

Colonel  Padmore  of  our  club  being  out  of  town, 
and  too  wise  a  man  to  send  his  favourite  old  cob  to 
grass,  I  mounted  him  yesterday,  and  took  a  ride  in 
Rotten  Row,  and  in  various  parts  of  the  city,  where  but 
ten  days  back  all  sorts  of  life,  hilarity,  and  hospitality, 


144  mr.  brown's  letters. 

were  going  on.  What  a  change  it  is  now  in  the  Park, 
from  that  scene  which  the  modern  Pepys,  and  that  inge- 
nious youth  who  signs  his  immortal  drawings  with  a  D 
surmounted  by  a  dicky-bird,  depicted  only  a  few  weeks 
ago  !  Where  are  the  thousands  of  carriages  that  crawled 
along  the  Serpentine  shore,  and  which  give  an  observant 
man  a  happy  and  wholesome  sense  of  his  own  insigni- 
ficance— for  you  shall  be  a  man  long  upon  the  town, 
and  pass  five  hundred  equipages  without  knowing  the 
owners  of  one  of  them  ?  Where  are  the  myriads  of 
horsemen  who  trampled  the  Row  ? — the  splendid  dan- 
dies whose  boots  were  shiny,  whose  chins  were  tufted, 
whose  shirts  were  astounding,  whose  manners  were  frank 
and  manly,  whose  brains  were  somewhat  small  ?  W'here 
are  the  stout  old  capitalists  and  bishops  on  their  cobs 
(the  Bench,  by  the  way,  cuts  an  uncommonly  good  figure 
on  horseback)  ?  Where  are  the  dear  rideresses,  above 
all  ?  Where  is  she  the  gleaming  of  whose  red  neck- 
ribbon  in  the  distance  made  your  venerable  uncle's  heart 
beat,  Bob  ?  He  sees  her  now  prancing  by,  severe  and 
beautiful — a  young  Diana,  with  pure  bright  eyes ! 
Where  is  Fanny  who  wore  the  pretty  grey  hat  and  fea- 
ther, and  rode  the  pretty  grey  mare  ?  Fanny  changed 
her  name  last  week,  without  ever  so  much  as  sending 
me  a  piece  of  cake  ?  The  gay  squadrons  have  disap- 
peared :  the  ground  no  longer  thrills  with  the  thump 
of  their  countless  hoofs.  WATTEAu-like  groups  in  shot 
silks  no  longer  compose  themselves  under  the  green 


OUT    OF    TOWN.  145 


boughs  of  Kensington  Gardens :  the  scarlet  trumpeters 
have  blown  themselves  away  thence ;  you  don't  behold 
a  score  of  horsemen  in  the  course  of  an  hour's  ride  ;  and 
Mrs.  Catherine  Highflyer,  whom  a  fortnight  since 
you  never  saw  unaccompanied  by  some  supertj  young 
Earl  and  roue  of  the  fashion,  had  yesterday  so  little  to 
do  with  her  beautiful  eyes,  that  she  absolutely  tried  to 
kill  your  humble  servant  with  them  as  she  cantered  by 
me  in  at  the  barriers  of  the  Row,  and  looked  round 
firing  Parthian  shots  behind  her.  But  Padmore's  cob 
did  not  trot,  nor  did  my  blood  run,  any  the  quicker, 
Mr.  Bob  ;  man  and  beast  are  grown  too  old  and  steady 
to  be  put  out  of  our  pace  by  any  Mrs.  Highflyer  of 
them. all ;  and  though  I  hope,  if  I  live  to  be  a  hundred, 
never  to  be  unmoved  by  the  sight  of  a  pretty  girl,  it  is 
not  thy  kind  of  beauty,  O  ogling  and  vain  Delilah, 
that  can  set  me  cantering  after  thee. 

By  the  way,  one  of  the  benefits  I  find  in  the  dull  sea- 
son is  at  my  own  lodgings.  When  I  ring  the  bell  now, 
that  uncommonly  pretty  young  woman,  the  landlady's 
daughter,  condescends  to  come  in  and  superintend  my 
comfort,  and  whisk  about  amongst  the  books  and  tea- 
things,  and  wait  upon  me  in  general :  whereas  in  the 
full  season,  when  young  Lord  Claude  Lollypop  is  here 
attending  to  his  arduous  duties  in  Parliament,  and  oc- 
cupying his  accustomed  lodgings  on  the  second  floor,  the 
deuce  a  bit  will  Miss  Flora  ever  deign  to  bring  a 
message  or  a  letter  to  old  Mr.  Brcwn  on  the  first,  but 

n 


146  mr.  brown's  letters. 

sends  me  in  Muggins,  my  old  servant,  whose  ugly  face 
I  have  known  any  time  these  thirty  years,  or  the  blowsy 
maid-of-all-work  with  her  sandy  hair  in  papers. 

Again,  at  the  club,  how  many  privileges  does  a  man 
lingering  in  London  enjoy,  from  which  he  is  precluded 
in  the  full  season !  Every  man  in  every  club  has  three 
or  four  special  aversions — men  who  somehow  annoy 
him,  as  I  have  no  doubt  but  that  you  and  I,  Bob,  are 
hated  by  some  particular  man,  and  for  that  excellent 
reason  for  which  the  poet  disliked  Dr.  Fell — the  appear- 
ance of  old  Banquo,  in  the  same  place,  in  the  same 
arm-chair,  reading  the  newspaper  day  after  day  and 
evening  after  evening ;  of  Mr.  Plodder  threading  among 
the  coffee-room  tables  and  taking  note  of  every  man's 
dinner ;  of  old  General  Hawkshaw  who  makes  that 
constant  noise  in  the  club,  sneezing,  coughing,  and  blow- 
ing his  nose — all  these  men,  by  their  various  defects  or 
qualities,  have  driven  me  half  mad  at  times,  and  I  have 
thought  to  myself,  0  that  I  could  go  to  the  club  without 
seeing  Banquo — O  that  Plodder  would  not  come  and 
inspect  my  mutton  chop — 0  that  fate  would  remove 
Hawkshaw  and  his  pocket  handkerchief  for  ever  out 
of  my  sight  and  hearing !  Well,  August  arrives,  and 
one's  three  men  of  the  sea  are  off  one's  shoulders.  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Banquo  are  at  Leamington,  the  paper  says  ; 
Mr.  Plodder  is  gone  to  Paris  to  inspect  the  dinners  at 
the  Trois  Freres  ;  and  Hawkshaw  is  coughing  away 
at  Brighton  where  the  sad  sea  waves  murmur  before 


OUT    OF    TOWN.  147 


him.  The  club  is  your  own.  How  pleasant  it  is  !  You 
can  get  the  Globe  and  Standard  now  without  a  struggle  ; 
you  may  see  all  the  Sunday  papers ;  when  you  dine  it 
is  not  like  dining  in  a  street  dinned  by  the  tramp  of 
waiters  perpetually  passing  with  clanking  dishes  of  vari- 
ous odours,  and  jostled  by  young  men  who  look  scowl- 
ingly  down  upon  your  dinner  as  they  pass  with  creaking 
boots.  They  are  all  gone — you  sit  in  a  vast  and  agree- 
able apartment  with  twenty  large  servants  at  your  orders 
— if  you  were  a  Duke  with  a  thousand  pounds  a  day 
you  couldn't  be  better  served  or  lodged.  Those  men, 
having  nothing  else  to  do,  are  anxious  to  prevent  your 
desires  and  make  you  happy — the  butler  bustles  about 
with  your  pint  of  wine — if  you  order  a  dish,  the  chef 
himself  will  probably  cook  it:  what  mortal  can  ask 
more  ? 

I  once  read  in  a  book  purporting  to  give  descriptions 
of  London,  and  life  and  manners,  an  account  of  a  family 
in  the  lower  ranks  of  genteel  life,  who  shut  up  the  front 
windows  of  their  house,  and  lived  in  the  back  rooms, 
from  which  they  only  issued  for  fresh  air  surreptitiously 
at  midnight,  so  that  their  friends  might  suppose  that  they 
were  out  of  town.  I  suppose  that  there  is  some  founda- 
tion for  this  legend.  I  suppose  that  some  people  are 
actually  afraid  to  be  seen  in  London,  when  the  persons 
who  form  their  society  have  quitted  the  metropolis  :  and 
that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Higgs  being  left  at  home  at  Isling- 
ton, when  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Biggs,  their  next  door  neigh- 


148  MR.  brown's  letters. 

bours,  have  departed  for  Margate  or  Gravesend,  feel 
pangs  of  shame  at  their  own  poverty,  and  envy  at  their 
friends'  better  fortune.  I  have  seen  many  men  and 
cities,  my  dear  Bob,  and  noted  their  manners :  and  for 
servility  I  will  back  a  free-born  Englishman  of  the  re- 
spectable classes  against  any  man  of  any  nation  in  the 
world.  In  the  competition  for  social  rank  between 
Higgs  and  Biggs,  think  what  a  strange  standard  of 
superiority  is  set  up  ! — a  shilling  steamer  to  Gravesend, 
and  a  few  shrimps  more  or  less  on  one  part  or  the  other, 
settles  the  claim.  Perhaps  in  what  is  called  high  life, 
there  are  disputes  as  paltry,  aims  as  mean,  and  distinc- 
tions as  absurd :  but  my  business  is  with  this  present 
folly  of  being  ashamed  to  be  in  London.  Ashamed, 
Sir  !  I  like  being  in  London  at  this  time,  and  have  so 
much  to  say  regarding  the  pleasures  of  the  place  in  the 
dead  season,  that,  per  favour  of  Mr.  Punch,  I  hope  to 
write  you,  probably,  another  letter  regarding  it  next 
week. 

II. 

Careering  during  the  season  from  one  party  to 
another,  from  one  great  dinner  of  twenty  covers  to 
another  of  eighteen  guests ;  from  Lady  IIusTLEBURr's 
rout  to  Mrs.  Packington's  soiree — friendship,  to  a  man 
about  town,  becomes  impossible  from  February  to 
August :  it  is  only  his  acquaintances  he  can  cultivate 
during  those  six  months  of  turmoil. 


OUT    OF    TOWN.  149 


In  the  last  fortnight,  one  has  had  leisure  to  recur 
to  more  tender  emotions :  in  other  words,  as  nobody 
has  asked  me  to  dinner,  I  have  been  about  seeking 
dinners  from  my  old  friends.  And  very  glad  are  they 
to  see  you :  very  kindly  and  hospitable  are  they 
disposed  to  be,  very  pleasant  are  those  little  calm 
reunions  in  the  quiet  summer-evenings,  when  the  be- 
loved friend  of  your  youth  and  you  sip  a  bottle  of  claret 
together  leisurely  without  candles,  and  ascend  to  the 
drawing-room  where  the  friend  of  your  youth's  wife  sits 
blandly  presiding  over  the  tea-pot.  What  matters  that 
it  is  the  metal  tea-pot,  the  silver  utensils  being  packed 
off  to  the  banker's  ?  what  matters  that  the  hangings  are 
down,  and  the  lustre  in  a  brown-hollands  bag  ?  In- 
timacy increases  by  this  artless  confidence — you  are 
admitted  to  a  family  en  deshabille.  In  an  honest  man's 
house,  the  wine  is  never  sent  to  the  banker's  ;  he  can 
always  go  to  the  cellar  for  that.  And  so  we  drink  and 
prattle  in  quiet — about  the  past  season,  about  our  sons 
at  college,  and  what  not.  We  become  intimate  again, 
because  Fate,  which  has  long  separated  us,  throws  us 
once  more  together.  I  say  the  dull  season  is  a  kind 
season  :  gentle  and  amiable,  friendly  and  full  of  quiet 
enjoyment. 

Among  these  pleasant  little  meetings,  for  which  the 
present  season  has  given  time  and  opportunity,  I  shall 
mention  one,  Sir,  which  took  place  last  Wednesday, 
and  which  during  the  very  dinner  itself  I  vowed  I  would 


150  mr.  brown's  letters. 


describe,  if  the  venerable  Mr.  Punch  would  grant  me 
leave  and  space,  in  the  columns  of  a  journal  which  has 
for  its  object  the  promotion  of  mirth  and  good  will. 

In  the  year  eighteen  hundred  and  something,  Sir, 
there  lived  at  a  villa,  at  a  short  distance  from  London,  a 
certain  gentleman  and  lady  who  had  many  acquain- 
tances and  friends,  among  whom  was  your  humble 
servant.  For  to  become  acquainted  with  this  young 
woman  was  to  become  her  friend,  so  friendly  was  she, 
so  kind,  so  gentle,  so  full  of  natural  genius,  and  grace- 
ful feminine  accomplishment.  Whatever  she  did  she 
did  charmingly  ;  her  life  was  decorated  with  a  hundred 
pretty  gifts,  with  which,  as  one  would  fancy,  kind  fairies 
had  endowed  her  cradle ;  music  and  pictures  seemed  to 
How  naturally  out  from  her  hand,  as  she  laid  it  on  the 
piano  or  the  drawing-board.  She  sang  exquisitely,  and 
with  a  full  heart,  and  as  if  she  couldn't  help  it  any 
more  than  a  bird.  I  have  an  image  of  this  fair  creature 
before  me  now,  v  calm,  sunshiny  evening,  a  green  lawn 
flaring  with  roses  and  geraniums,  and  a  half-dozen 
gentlemen  sauntering  thereon  in  a  state  of  great  con- 
tentment, or  gathered  under  the  verandah,  by  the  open 
French  window :  near  by  she  sits  singing  at  the  piano. 
She  is  in  a  pink  dress :  she  has  gigot  sleeves ;  a  little 
child  in  a  prodigious  sash  is  playing  about  at  her 
mother's  knee.  She  sings  song  after  song ;  the  sun 
goes  down  behind  the  black  fir-trees  that  belt  the  lawn, 
and  Missy  in  the  blue  sash  vanishes  to  the  nursery ;  the 


OUT    OF    TOWN.  151 


room  darkens  in  the  twilight ;  the  stars  appear  in  the 
heaven — and  the  tips  of  the  cigars  glow  in  the  bal- 
cony ;  she  sings  song  after  song,  in  accents  soft  and  low, 
tender  and  melodious — we  are  never  tired  of  hearing 
her.  Indeed,  Bob,  I  can  hear  her  still — the  stars  of 
those  calm  nights  still  shine  in  my  memory,  and  I  have 
been  humming  one  of  her  tunes  with  my  pen  in  my 
mouth,  to  the  surprise  of  Mr.  Dodder,  who  is  writ- 
ing at  the  opposite  side  of  the  table,  and  wondering 
at  the  lackadaisical  expression  which  pervades  my  vene- 
rable muo\ 

You  will  naturally  argue  from  the  above  pathetic 
passage,  that  I  was  greatly  smitten  by  Mrs.  Nightin- 
gale- (as  we  will  call  this  lady,  if  you  will  permit  me). 
You  are  right,  Sir.  For  what  is  an  amiable  woman 
made,  but  that  we  should  fall  in  love  with  her  !  I  do 
not  mean  to  say  that  you  are  to  lose  your  sleep,  or  give 
up  your  dinner,  or  make  yourself  unhappy  in  her  ab- 
sence ;  but  when  the  sun  shines  (and  it  is  not  too  hot) 
I  like  to  bask  in  it :  when  the  bird  sings,  to  listen  :  and 
to  admire  that  which  is  admirable,  with  an  honest  and 
hearty  enjoyment.  There  were  a  half-dozen  men  at  the 
period  of  which  I  speak,  who  wore  Mrs.  Nightingale's 
( olours,  and  we  used  to  be  invited  down  from  London 
cf  a  Saturday  and  Sunday,  to  Thornwood,  by  the  hos- 
pitable host  and  hostess  there,  and  it  seemed  like  going- 
back  to  school,  when  we  came  away  by  the  coach  of  a 
Monday  morning :  we  talked  of  her  all  the  way  back  to 


152  mr.  brown's  letters. 

London,  to  separate  upon  our  various  callings  when  we 
got  into  the  smoky  city.  Salvator  Rodgers  the 
painter,  went  to  his  easel ;  Woodward  the  barrister,  to 
his  chambers  ;  Piper,  the  doctor,  to  his  patient  (for  he 
then  only  had  one),  and  so  forth.  Fate  called  us  each 
to  his  business,  and  has  sent  us  upon  many  a  distant 
errand  since  that  day.  But  from  that  day  to  this, 
whenever  we  meet,  the  remembrance  of  the  holidays  at 
Thornwood  has  been  always  a  bond  of  union  between 
us:  and  we  have  always  had  Mrs.  Nightingale's 
colours  put  away  amongst  the  cherished  relics  of  old 
times. 

1ST.  was  a  West  India  merchant,  and  his  property  went 
to  the  bad.  He  died  at  Jamaica.  Thornwood  was  let 
to  other  people  who  knew  us  not.  The  widow  with  a 
small  jointure  retired,  and  educated  her  daughter  abroad. 
We  had  not  heard  of  her  for  years  and  years,  nor 
until  she  came  to  town  about  a  legacy  a  few  weeks 
since. 

In  those  years  and  years  what  changes  have  taken 
place  ?  Sir  Salvator  Rodgers  is  a  Member  of  the 
Royal  Academy.  Woodward  the  barrister  has  made  a 
fortune  at  the  Bar  ;  and  in  seeing  Doctor  Piper  in  his 
barouche,  as  he  rolls  about  Belgravia  and  May  Fair,  you 
at  once  know  what  a  man  of  importance  he  has  be- 
come. 

On  last  Monday  week,  Sir,  I  received  a  letter  in  a 
delicate  female  hand-writing,  with  which  I  was  not  ac- 


OUT    OF    TOWN.  153 


quainted,  and  which  Miss  Flora,  the  landlady's  daugh- 
ter, condescended  to  bring  me,  saying  that  it  had  been 
left  at  the  door  by  two  ladies  in  a  Brougham. 

"  — Why  did  you  not  let  them  come  up  stairs  ?"  6aid 
~  in  a  rage,  after  reading  the  note. 

"  We  don't  know  what  sort  of  people  goes  about  in 
Broughams,"  said  Miss  Flora,  with  a  toss  of  her  head, 
"  we  don't  want  no  ladies  in  our  house ;"  and  she  flung 
her  impertinence  out  of  the  room. 

The  note  was  signed  Frances  Nightingale, — where- 
as our  Nightingale's  name  was  Louisa.  But  this 
Frances  was  no  other  than  the  little  thing  in  the  large 
blue  sash,  whom  we  remembered  at  Thornwood,  ever  so 
many  years  ago.  The  writer  declared  that  she  recol- 
lected me  quite  well,  that  her  mamma  was  most  anxious 
to  see  an  old  friend,  and  that  they  had  apartments  at 
No.  166,  Clarges  Street,  Piccadilly,  whither  I  hastened 
off*  to  pay  my  respects  to  Mrs.  Nightingale. 

When  I  entered  the  room,  a  tall  and  beautiful  young 
woman  with  blue  eyes,  and  a  serene  and  majestic  air, 
came  up  to  shake  hands  with  me  :  and  I  beheld  in  her, 
without  in  the  least  recognising,  the  little  Fanny  of  the 
blue  sash.  Mamma  came  out  of  the  adjoining  apart- 
ment presently.  We  had  not  met  since — since  all  sorts 
of  events  had  occurred — her  voice  was  not  a  little  agi- 
tated.  Here  was  that  fair  creature  whom  we  had  ad- 
mired so.  Sir,  I  shall  not  say  whether  she  was  altered 
or  not.     The  tones  of  her  voice  were  as  sweet  and  kind 

1* 


154  mr.  brown's  letters. 


as  ever ; — and  we  talked  about  Miss  Fanny  as  a  sub* 
ject  in  common  between  us,  and  I  admired  the  growth 
and  beauty  of  the  young  lady,  though  I  did  not  mind 
telling  her  to  her  face  (at  which  to  be  sure  the  girl  was 
delighted),  that  she  never  in  my  eyes  would  be  half  as 
pretty  as  her  mother. 

Well,  Sir,  upon  this  day  arrangements  were  made  for 
that  dinner  which  took  place  on  Wednesday  last,  and  to 
the  remembrance  of  which  I  determined  to  consecrate 
this  present  page. 

It  so  happened  that  everybody  was  in  town  of  the  old 
set  of  whom  I  have  made  mention,  and  everybody  was 
disengaged.  Sir  Salvator  Rodgers  (who  has  become 
such  a  swell  since  he  was  knighted  and  got  the  cordon 
of  the  order  of  the  George  and  Blue  Boar  of  Russia,  that 
we  like  to  laugh  at  him  a  little)  made  his  appearance  at 
eight  o'clock,  and  was  perfectly  natural  and  affablet 
Woodward  the  lawyer  forgot  his  abominable  law  and 
his  money  about  which  he  is  always  thinking  :  and  final- 
ly Dr.  Piper  of  whom  we  despaired  because  his  wife 
is  mortally  jealous  of  every  lady  whom  he  attends,  and 
will  hardly  let  him  dine  out  of  her  sight,  had  pleaded 
Lady  Rackstraw's  situation  as  a  reason  for  not  going 
down  to  Wimbledon  Common  till  nisdit — and  so  we  six 
had  a  meeting. 

The  door  was  opened  to  us  by  a  maid  who  looked  us 
hard  in  the  face  as  we  went  up  stairs,  and  who  was  no 
other  than  little  Fannt's  nurse  in  former  days,  come  like 


OUT    OF    TOWN.  155 


us  to  visit  her  old  mistress.  We  all  knew  her  except 
Woodward  the  lawyer,  and  all  shook  hands  with  her 
except  him.  Constant  study  had  driven  her  out  of  the 
lawyer's  memory.  I  don't  think  he  ever  cared  for  Mrs. 
Nightingale  as  much  as  the  rest  of  us  did,  or  indeed 
that  it  is  in  the  nature  of  that  learned  man  to  care  for 
any  but  one  learned  person. 

And  what  do  you  think,  Sir,  this  dear  and  faithful 
widow  had  done  to  make  us  welcome  ?  She  remember- 
ed the  dishes  that  we  used  to  like  ever  so  long  ago,  and 
she  had  everv  man's  favourite  dish  for  him.  Rodgers 
used  to  have  a  passion  for  herrings— there  they  were : 
the  lawyer,  who  has  an  enormous  appetite,  which  he 
gratifies  at  other  people's  expense,  had  a  shoulder  of 
mutton  and  onion  sauce,  which  the  lean  and  hungry 
man  devoured  almost  entirely :  mine  did  not  come  till 
the  second  course — it  was  baked  plum-pudding — I  was 
affected  when  I  saw  it,  Sir — I  choked  almost  when  I  eat 
it.  Piper  made  a  beautiful  little  speech,  and  made  an 
ice  compound,  for  which  he  was  famous,  and  we  drank 
it  just  as  we  used  to  drink  it  in  old  times,  and  to  the 
health  of  the  widow. 

How  should  we  have  had  this  dinner,  how  could  we 
all  have  assembled  together  again,  if  everybody  had  not 
been  out  of  town,  and  everybody  had  not  been  disen- 
gaged ?  Just  for  one  evening,  the  scattered  members 
of  an  old  circle  of  friendship  returned  and  met  round 
the  old  table  again — round  this  little  green  island  we 


156  MR.    BROWNS    LETTERS. 

moor  for  the  night  at  least, — to-morrow  we  part  com- 
pany, and  each  man  for  himself  sails  over  the  ingens 
cequor. 

Since  I  wrote  the  above,  I  find  that  everybody  really 
is  gone  away.  The  widow  left  town  on  Friday.  I  have 
been  on  my  round  just  now,  and  have  been  met  at  every 
step  by  closed  shutters  and  the  faces  of  unfamiliar  char- 
women. No.  9  is  gone  to  Malvern.  No.  37, 15,  25,  48, 
and  36a,  are  gone  to  Scotland.  The  solitude  of  the 
Club  begins  to  be  unbearable,  and  I  found  Muggins  this 
morning,  preparing  a  mysterious  apparatus  of  travelling 
boot-trees,  and  dusting  the  portmanteaus. 

If  you  are  not  getting  on  well  with  the  Kicklebury's 
at  Hamburg  I  recommend  you  to  go  to  Spa.  Mrs. 
Nightingale  is  going  thither,  and  will  be  at  the  Hotel 
d'Orange ;  where  you  may  use  my  name  and  present 
yourself  to  her :  and  I  may  hint  to  you  in  confidence 
that  Miss  Fanny  will  have  a  very  pretty  little  fortune. 


THE    PROSEE. 


THE    PROSER. 


+»♦■ 


I. 

ON  A  LADY  IN  AN  OPERA-BOX. 

Going  the  other  night  to  the  Conservatoire  at  Paris, 
where  there  was  a  magnificent  assemblage  of  rank  and 
fashion  gathered  together  to  hear  the  delightful  per- 
formance of  Madame  Sontag,  the  friend  who  conferred 
upon  me  the  polite  favour  of  a  ticket  to  the  stalls,  also 
pointed  out  to  me  who  were  the  most  remarkable  per- 
sonages round  about  us.  There  were  ambassadors, 
politicians,  and  gentlemen,  military  and  literary  ;  there 
were  beauties,  French,  Russian,  and  English :  there 
were  old  ladies  who  had  been  beauties  once,  and  who, 
by  the  help  of  a  little  distance  and  politeness  (and  if 
you  didn't  use  your  opera-glass,  which  is  a  cruel  detec- 
tor of  paint  and  wrinkles),  looked  young  and  handsome 
still :  and  a  plenty  of  old  bucks  in  the  stalls  and  boxes, 
well  wigged,  well  gloved,  and  brilliantly  waistcoated, 
veiy  obsequious  to  the  ladies,  and  satisfied  with  them- 
selves and  the  world. 


160  THE    PROSER. 


Up  in  the  second  tier  of  boxes  I  saw  a  very  stout, 
jolly,  good-humoured  looking  lady,  whose  head-dress 
and  ringlets  and  general  appurtenances  were  unmistake- 
ably  English — and  whom,  were  you  to  meet  her  at 
Timbuctoo,  or  in  the  seraglio  of  the  Grand  Sultan 
amongst  a  bevy  of  beauties  collected  from  all  the 
countries  of  the  earth,  one  would  instantly  know  to  be 
a  British  female.  I  do  not  mean  to  say,  that,  were  I 
the  Padishah,  I  would  select  that  moon-faced  houri  out 
of  all  the  lovely  society,  and  make  her  the  Empress  or 
Grand  Signora  of  my  dominions ;  but  simply  that  there 
is  a  character  about  our  countrywomen  which  leads  one 
to  know,  recognise,  and  admire,  and  wonder  at  them 
among  all  women  of  all  tongues  and  countries.  We 
have  our  British  Lion ;  we  have  our  Britannia  ruling 
the  waves;  we  have  our  British  female — the  most 
respectable,  the  most  remarkable,  of  the  women  of  this 
world.  And  now  we  have  come  to  the  woman  who 
gives  the  subject,  though  she  is  not  herself  the  subject, 
of  these  present  remarks. 

As  I  looked  at  her  with  that  fond  curiosity  and 
silent  pleasure  and  wonder  which  she  (I  mean  the  great 
British  Female)  always  inspires  in  my  mind,  watching 
her  smiles,  her  ways  and  motions,  her  allurements  and 
attractive  gestures — her  head  bobbing  to  this  friend 
whom  she  recognised  in  the  stalls — her  jolly  fat  hand 
wagging  a  welcome  to  that  acquaintance  in  a  neigh- 
bouring box — my  friend   and  guide  for   the   evening 


ON    A    LADY    IN    AN    OPERA-BOX.  161 


caught  her  eye,  and  made  her  a  respectful  bow,  and 
said  to  me  with  a  look  of  much  meaning,  "  That  is 
Mrs.  Trotter- Walker."  And  from  that  minute  I  forgot 
Madame  Sontag,  and  thought  only  of  Mrs.  T.-W. 

"  So  that,"  said  I,  "  is  Mrs.  Trotter-Walker  !  You 
have  touched  a  chord  in  my  heart.  You  have  brought 
back  old  times  to  my  memory,  and  made  me  recal  some 
of  the  griefs  and  disappointments  of  my  early  days." 

"Hold  your  tongue,  man!"  says  Tom,  my  friend. 
"  Listen  to  the  Sontag  ;  how  divinely  she  is  singing  ! 
how  fresh  her  voice  is  still !" 

I  looked    up   at  Mrs.  Walker   all   the  time  with 

unabated  interest.     "  Madam,"  thought  I,  "  you  look  to 

be   as  kind  and  good-natured   a  person    as   eyes  ever 

fc  lighted  upon.     The  way  in  which  you  are  smiling  to 

that  young  dandy  with   the  double  eye-glass,  and  the 

empressement  with  which  he  returns  the  salute,  shows 

that  your  friends  are  persons  of  rank  and  elegance,  and 

that  you  are  esteemed  by  them — giving  them,  as  I  am 

sure  from  your  kind  appearance  you  do,  good  dinner 

and  pleasant  balls.     But   I  wonder  what  would  you 

think  if  you  knew  that  I  was  looking  at  you  ?     I  behold 

you  for  the  first  time  :    there  are  a  hundred  pretty 

'  voung  girls  in  the  house,  whom  an  amateur  of  mere 

beauty  would  examine  with  much  greater  satisfaction 

than  he  would  naturally  bestow  upon  a  lady  whose 

prime   is  past ;    and    yet   the   sight  of   you   interest? 

me,  and  tiokles  me  so  to  speak,  and  my  eye-glass  can't 


162  THE    PROSER. 


remove  itself  from  the  contemplation  of  your  honest 
face. 

"  What  is  it  that  interests  me  so  ?  What  do  you 
suppose  interests  a  man  the  most  in  this  life  ?  Himself, 
to  be  sure.  It  is  at  himself  he  is  looking  through  his 
Dpera-glass — himself  who  is  concerned,  or  he  would  not 
be  watching  you  so  keenly.  And  now  let  me  confess 
why  it  is  that  the  lady  in  the  upper  box  excites  me  so, 
and  why  I  say,  '  That  is  Mrs.  Trotter- Walker,  is  it  V 
with  an  air  of  such  deep  interest." 

Well,  then.  In  the  year  eighteen  hundred  and 
thirty  odd,  it  happened  that  I  went  to  pass  the  winter 
at  Rome,  as  we  will  call  the  city.  Major-General  and 
Mrs.  Trotter- Walker  were  also  there ;  and  until  I 
heard  of  them  there,  I  had  never  heard  that  there  were 
such  people  in  existence  as  the  General  and  the  lady — 
the  lady  yonder  with  the  large  fan  in  the  upper  boxes. 
Mrs.  Walker,  as  became  her  station  in  life,  took,  I 
dare  say,  very  comfortable  lodgings,  gave  dinners  and 
parties  to  her  friends,  and  had  a  night  in  the  week  for 
receptions. 

Much  as  I  have  travelled  and  lived  abroad,  these 
evening  reunions  have  never  greatly  fascinated  me. 
Man  cannot  live  upon  lemonade,  wax  candles,  and  weak 
tea.  Gloves  and  white  neck-cloths  cost  money,  and 
those  plaguy  shiny  boots  are  always  so  tight  and  hot. 
Am  I  made  of  money,  that  I  can  hire  a  coach  to  go  to 
one  of  these  soirees  on  a  rainy  Roman  night ;  or  can  J 


ON    A    LADY    IN    AN    OPERA-BOX.  163 

come  in  goloshes,  and  take  them  off  in  the  ante-cham- 
ber ?  I  am  too  poor  for  cabs,  and  too  vain  for  goloshes. 
If  it  had  been  to  see  the  girl  of  my  heart  (I  mean  at 
the  time  when  there  were  girls,  and  I  had  a  heart),  I 
couldn't  have  gone  in  goloshes.  Well,  not  being  in 
love,  and  not  liking  weak  tea  and  lemonade,  I  did  not 
go  to  evening  parties  that  year  at  Rome ;  nor,  of  later 
years,  at  Paris,  Vienna,  Copenhagen,  Islington,  or  wher- 
ever I  may  have  been. 

What,  then,  were  my  feelings  when  my  dear  and 
valued  friend,  Mrs.  Coverlade  (she  is  a  daughter  of 
that  venerable  peer,  the  Right  Honourable  the  Lord 
Comandine),  who  was  passing  the  winter  too  at  Rome, 
said  to  me,  "  My  dear  Dr.  Pacifico,  what  have  you 
done  to  offend  Mrs.  Trotter- Walker  ?" 

"  I  know  no  person  of  that  name,"  I  said.  "  I  knew 
Walker  of  the  Post  Office,  and  poor  Trotter  who  was 
a  captain  in  our  regiment,  and  died  under  my  hands  at 
the  Bahamas.  But  with  the  Trotter- Walkers  I 
haven't  the  honour  of  an  acquaintance." 

"  Well,  it  is  not  likely  that  you  will  have  that 
honour,"  Mrs.  Coverlade  said.  "Mrs.  Walker  said 
last  night  that  she  did  not  wish  to  make  your  acquaint- 
ance, and  that  she  did  not  intend  to  receive  you." 

"I  think  she  might  have  waited  until  I  asked  her, 
Madam,"  I  said.  "  What  have  I  done  to  her  ?  I  have 
never  seen  or  heard  of  her :  how  should  I  want  to  get 
into  her  house  ?  or  attend  at  her  Tuesdavs — confound 


164  THE    PROSER. 


her  Tuesdays !"  I  am  sorry  to  say  I  said,  Confound 
Mrs.  Walker's  Tuesdays,  and  the  conversation  took 
another  turn,  and  it  so  happened  that  I  was  called 
away  from  Rome  suddenly,  and  never  set  eyes  upon 
Mrs.  Walker,  or  indeed  thought  about  her  from  that 
day  to  this. 

Strange  endurance  of  human  vanity  !  a  million  of 
much  more  important  conversations  have  escaped  one 
since  then,  most  likely — but  the  memory  of  this  little 
mortification  (for  such  it  is,  after  all)  remains  quite 
fresh  in  the  mind,  and  unforgotten,  though  it  is  a  trifle, 
and  more  than  half  a  score  of  years  old.  We  forgive 
injuries,  we  survive  even  our  remorse  for  great  wrongs 
that  we  ourselves  commit ;  but  I  doubt  if  we  ever  for- 
give slights  of  this  nature  put  upon  us,  or  forget  circum- 
stances in  which  our  self-love  had  been  made  to 
suffer. 

Otherwise,  why  should  the  remembrance  of  Mrs. 
Trotter- Walker  have  remained  so  lively  in  this 
bosom  ?  Why  should  her  appearance  have  excited  such 
a  keen  interest  in  these  eyes  ?  Had  Venus  or  Helen 
(the  favourite  beauty  of  Paris)  been  at  the  side  of  Mrs. 
T.-W.,  I  should  have  looked  at  the  latter  more  than  at 
the  Queen  of  Love  herself.  Had  Mrs.  Walker  mur- 
dered Mrs.  Pacifico,  or  inflicted  some  mortal  injury 
upon  me,  I  might  forgive  her — but  for  slight  ?  Never, 
Mrs.  Trotter- Walker  ;  never,  by  Nemesis,  never  ! 

And   now,  having  allowed    my  personal  wrath   to 


ON    A    LADY    IN    AN    OPERA-BOX.  165 

explode,  let  us  calmly  moralize  for  a  minute  or  two  upon 
this  little  circumstance ;  for  there  is  no  circumstance, 
however  little,  that  won't  afford  a  text  for  a  sermon. 
Why  was  it  that  Mrs.  General  Trotter-Walker 
iefused  to  receive  Dr.  S.  Pacifico  at  her  parties  ?  She 
had  noticed  me  probably  somewhere  where  I  had  not 
remarked  her;  she  did  not  like  my  aquiline  coun- 
tenance, my  manner  of  taking  snuff,  my  Blucher  boots, 
or  what  not;  or  she  had  seen  me  walking  with  my 
friend  Jack  Raggett,  the  painter,  on  the  Pincio — a  fel- 
low with  a  hat  and  beard  like  a  bandit,  a  shabby  paTe- 
tot,  and  a  great  pipe  between  his  teeth.  I  was  not 
genteel  enough  for  her  circle — I  assume  that  to  be  the 
reason ;  indeed,  Mrs.  Coverlade,  with  a  good-natured 
smile  at  my  coat,  which  I  own  was  somewhat  shabby, 
o-ave  me  to  understand  as  much. 

You  little  know,  my  worthy  kind  lady,  what  a  loss 
you  had  that  season  at  Rome,  in  turning  up  your 
amiable  nose  at  the  present  writer.  I  could  have  given 
you  appropriate  anecdotes  (with  which  my  mind  is 
stored)  of  all  the  courts  of  Europe,  (besides  of  Africa, 
Asia,  and  St.  Domingo)  which  I  have  visited.  I  could 
have  made  the  General  die  of  laughing  after  dinner  with 
some  of  my  funny  stories,  of  which  I  keep  a  book,  with 
out  which  I  never  travel.  I  am  content  with  my  din- 
ner :  I  can  carve  beautifully,  and  make  jokes  upon 
almost  any  dish  at  table.  I  can  talk  about  wine, 
cookery,  hotels  all  over  the  continent : — anything  you 


166  THE    PROSER. 


will.  I  have  been  familiar  with  Cardinals,  Red  Repub- 
licans, Jesuits,  German  Princes,  and  Carbonari ;  and 
what  is  more,  I  can  listen  and  hold  my  tongue  to 
admiration.  Ah,  Madam !  what  did  you  lose  in  refus- 
ing to  make  the  acquaintance  of  Solomon  Pacific o, 
M.  D. ! 

And  why  ?  because  my  coat  was  a  trifle  threadbare ; 
because  I  dined  at  the  Lepre,  with  Raggett  and  some 
of  those  other  bandits  of  painters,  and  had  not  the 
money  to  hire  a  coach  and  horses. 

Gentility  is  the  death  and  destruction  of  social  hap- 
piness amongst  the  middle  classes  in  England.  It 
destroys  naturalness  (if  I  may  coin  such  a  word)  and 
kindly  sympathies.  The  object  of  life,  as  I  take  it,  is 
to  be  friendly  with  everybody.  As  a  rule,  and  to  a 
philosophical  cosmopolite,  every  man  ought  to  be  wel- 
come. I  do  not  mean  to  vour  intimacy  or  affection, 
but  to  your  society ;  as  there  is,  if  we  would  or  could 
but  discover  it,  something  notable,  something  worthy 
of  observation,  of  sympathy,  of  wonder  and  amusement 
in  every  fellow  mortal.  If  I  had  been  Mr.  Pacifico, 
travelling  with  a  courier  and  a  carriage,  would  Mrs. 
Walker  have  made  any  objection  to  me  ?  I  think  not. 
It  was  the  Blucher-boots  and  the  worn  hat,  and  the 
homely  companion  of  the  individual,  which  were  unwel- 
come to  this  lady.  If  I  had  been  the  disguised  Duke 
of  Pacifico,  and  not  a  retired  army-surgeon,  would 
she   have   forgiven    herself  for  slighting  me  ?     What 


ON    A    LADY    IN    AN    OPERA-BOX.  167 

stores  of  novels,  what  foison  of  plays,  are  composed  upon 
this  theme, — the  queer  old  character  in  the  wig  and 
cloak  throws  off  coat  and  spectacles,  and  appears  sud- 
denly with  a  star  and  Crown, — a  Haroun  Alraschid, 
or  other  Merry  Monarch.  And  straightway  we  clap  our 
hands  and  applaud — what  ? — the  star  and  garter. 

But  disguised  emperors  are  not  common  now-a- 
days.  You  don't  turn  away  monarchs  from  your  door, 
any  more  than  angels,  unawares.  Consider,  though, 
how  manv  a  £*" od  fellow  you  may  shut  out  and  sneer 
upon  !  what  an  immense  deal  of  pleasure,  frankness, 
kindness,  good  fellowship,  we  forego  for  the  sake  of  our 
confounded  gentility,  and  respect  for  outward  show  ! 
Instead  of  placing  our  society  upon  an  honest  footing, 
we  make  our  aim  almost  avowedly  sordid.  Love  is  of 
necessity  banished  from  your  society  when  you  measure 
all  your  guests  by  a  money-standard.* 

I  think  of  all  this — a  harmless  man- — seeing  a  good- 
natured  looking,  jolly  woman  in  the  boxes  yonder,  who 
thought  herself  once  too  great  a  person  to  associate  with 
the  likes  of  me.  If  I  give  myself  airs  to  my  neighbour, 
may  I  think  of  this  too,  and  be  a  little  more  humble  ! 
And  you,  honest  friend,  who  read  this — have  you  ever 
poohpoohed  a  man  as  good  as  you  ?  If  you  fall  into 
the  society  of  people  whom  you  are  pleased  to  call  your 
inferiors,  did  you  ever  sneer  ?  If  so,  change  I  into  U, 
and  the  fable  is  narrated  for  your  own  benefit,  by  your 
obedient  servant,  Solomon  Pacifico. 


168  THE    PROSER. 


II. 

ON  THE  PLEASURES  OF  BEING  A  FOGY. 


Whilst  I  was  riding  the  other  day  by  the  beautiful 
Serpentine  River  upon  my  excellent  friend  Heavyside's 
grey  cob,  and  in  company  of  the  gallant  and  agreeable 
Augustus  Toplady,  a  carriage  passed  from  which  looked 
out  a  face  of  such  remarkable  beauty,  that  Augustus 
and  myself  quickened  our  pace  to  follow  the  vehicle, 
and  to  keep  for  awhile  those  charming  features  in  view. 
My  beloved  and  unknown  young  friend  who  peruse 
these  lines,  it  w^s  very  likely  your  face  which  attracted 
your  humble  servant ;  recollect  whether  you  were  not 
in  the  Park  upon  the  day  I  allude  to,  and  if  you  were, 
whom  else  could  I  mean  but  you  ?  I  don't  know  your 
name;  I  have  forgotten  the  arms  on  the  carriage,  or 
whether  there  were  any ;  and  as  for  women's  dresses, 
who  can  remember  them  ?  but  your  dear  kind  coun 
tenance  was  so  pretty  and  good-humoured  and  pleasant 
to  look  at,  that  it  remains  to  this  day  faithfully  engraven 
on  my  heart,  and  I  feel  sure  that  you  are  as  good  as 
you  are  handsome.     Almost  all  handsome  women  are 


OX    THE    PLEASURES    OF    BEING    A    FOGY.  169 

good :  lhev  cannot  choose  but  he  good  and  gentle  with 
the e  -  I  features  and  that  charming  graceful  figure. 
A  dav  in  which  one  sees  a  very  pretty  woman  should 
alwavs  be  noted  as  a  holvdav  with  a  man.  and  marked 
with  a  white  stone.  In  this  way.  and  at  this  season  in 
London,  to  be  sure,  such  a  dav  comes  seven  times  in  the 
k,  and  our  calendar,  like  that  of  the  Roman  Catho- 
lics, is  all  Saints'  day?. 

Topladt,  then,  on  his  chesnut  horse,  with  his  glass  in 
eye,  and  the  tips  oi  his  shiny  boots  just  touching  the 
stirrup,  and  your  slave,  the  present  writer,  (who  by  the 
way  is  rather  better  and  younger  looking  than  the  de- 
signer  has  made  him)  rode  after  your  earr:  _  .  and 
looked  at  you  with  such  notes  of  admiration  expre- 
in  their  ey<  s,  that  you  remember  you  blushed,  you 
smiled,  and  then  becran  to  talk  to  that  very  niee-lookina: 
elderly  lady  in  the  from  s  .  who  of  course  was  your 
Mamma.  You  turned  out  of  the  ride — it  was  time  to 
go  home  and  dress  for  dinner. — you  were  gone.  l: 
luck  go  with  you,  and  with  all  fair  things  whicfe  thus 
come  and  pa—        ly  ! 

Top  caused  his  horse  to  cut  all  sorts  of  absurd  capers 
and  caracoles  bv  the  side  oi  vour  carriage.  He  made  it 
dance  upon  two  h  gs,  then  upon  other  two.  then  as 
if  he  would  jump  over  the  railings  and  crush  the  admir- 
ing1 nurserv-maids  and  the  rest  oi  the  infantry.  I 
should  think  he  got  his  animal  from  Battt's.  and  that, 
at  a  crack  of  "Weddicomb's  whip,  he  could  dance  a 

8 


170  THE    PROSER. 


quadrille.  He  ogled,  he  smiled,  he  took  off  his  hat  to  a 
Countess's  carriage  that  happened  to  be  passing  in  the 
other  line,  and  so  showed  his  hair ;  he  grinned,  he  kissed 
his  little  finger-tips  and  flung  them  about  as  if  he  would 
shake  them  off — whereas  the  other  party,  on  the  grey 
cob — the  old  gentleman — powdered  along  at  a  resolute 
trot,  and  never  once  took  his  respectful  eyes  off  you 
while  you  continued  in  the  ring. 

Yv7hen  you  were  done  (you  see  by  the  way  in  which 
I  linger  about  you  still,  that  I  am  unwilling  to  part  with 
you)  Toplady  turned  rotmd  upon  me  with  a  killing  tri- 
umphant air,  and  stroked  that  impudent  little  tuft  he 
has  on  his  chin,  and  said — "  I  say,  old  boy,  it  was  the 
chesnut  she  was  looking  at,  and  not  the  gway."  And  I 
make  no  doubt  he  thinks  you  are  in  love  with  him  to 
this  minute. 

"You  silly  young  jackanapes,"  said  I;  "what  do  I 
care  whether  she  was  looking  at  the  grey  or  the  ches- 
nut ?  I  was  thinking  about  the  girl ;  you  were  thinking 
about  yourself,  and  be  hanged  to  your  vanity  !"  And 
with  this  thrust  in  his  little  chest,  I  flatter  myself  1 
upset  young  Toplady,  that  triumphant  careering  rider. 

It  was  natural  that  he  should  wish  to  please ;  that  is, 
that  he  should  wish  other  people  to  admire  him.  Au- 
gustus Toplady  is  young  (still)  and  lovely.  It  is  not 
until  a  late  period  of  life  that  a  genteel  young  fellow, 
with  a  Grecian  nose  and  a  suitable  waist  and  whiskers, 
begins  to  admire  other  people  besides  himself. 


ON  THE  PLEASURES  OF  BEIXG  A  FOGY.     l7l 

That,  however,  is  the  great  advantage  which  a  man 
possesses  whose  morning  of  life  is  over,  whose  reason  is 
not  taken  prisoner  by  any  kind  of  blandishments,  and 
who  knows  and  feels  that  he  is  a  FOGY.  As  an  old 
buck  is  an  odious  sight,  absurd,  and  ridiculous  before 
gods  and  men ;  cruelly,  but  deservedly,  quizzed  by  you 
young  people,  who  are  not  in  the  least  duped  by  his 
youthful  airs  or  toilette  artifices ;  so  an  honest,  good- 
natured,  straight-forward,  middle-aged,  easily-pleased 
Fogy  is  a  worthy  and  amiable  member  of  society,  and  a 
man  who  gets  both  respect  and  liking. 

Even  in  the  lovely  sex,  who  has  ^ot  remarked  how 
painful  is  that  period  of  a  woman's  life  when  she  is 
passing  out  of  her  bloom,  and  thinking  about  giving  up 
her  position  as  a  beauty  ?  What  sad  injustice  and  stra- 
tagems she  has  to  perpetrate  during  the  struggle  !  She 
hides  away  her  daughters  in  the  school-room,  she  makes 
them  wear  cruel  pinafores,  and  dresses  herself  in  the 
garb  which  they  ought  to  assume.  She  is  obliged  to 
distort  the  calendar,  and  to  resort  to  all  sorts  of  schemes 
and  arts  to  hide,  in  her  own  person,  the  august  and 
respectable  marks  of  time.  Ah !  what  is  this  revolt 
against  nature  but  impotent  blasphemy  ?  Is  not  Autumn 
beautiful  in  its  appointed  season,  that  we  are  to  be 
ashamed  of  her  and  paint  her  yellowing  leaves  pea- 
green  ?  Let  us,  I  say,  take  the  fall  of  the  year  as  it  was 
made,  serenely  and  sweetly,  and  await  the  time  when 
Winter  comes  and  the  nights  shut  in.     I  know,  for  my 


172  THE    PROSER. 


part,  many  ladies  who  are  far  more  agreeable  and  more 
beautiful  too,  now  that  they  are  no  longer  beauties ; 
and,  by  converse,  I  have  no  doubt  that  Toplady,  about 
whom  we  were  speaking  just  now,  will  be  a  far  plea- 
santer  person  when  he  has  given  up  the  practice,  or 
desire,  of  killing  the  other  sex,  and  has  sunk  into  a 
mellow  repose  as  an  old  bachelor  or  a  married  man. 

The  great  and  delightful  advantage  that  a  man  enjoys 
in  the  world,  after  he  has  abdicated  all  pretensions  as  a 
conqueror  and  enslaver  of  females,  and  both  formally, 
and  of  his  heart,  acknowledges  himself  to  be  a  Fogy,  is 
that  he  now  comes  for  the  first  time  to  enjoy  and  appre- 
ciate duly  the  society  of  women.  For  a  young  man 
about  town,  there  is  only  one  woman  in  the  whole  city 
— (at  least  very  few  indeed  of  the  young  Turks,  let  us 
hope,  dare  to  have  two  or  three  strings  to  their  wicked 
bows) — he  goes  to  ball  after  ball  in  pursuit  of  that  one 
person ;  he  sees  no  other  eyes  but  hers ;  hears  no  other 
voice  ;  cares  for  no  other  petticoat  but  that  in  which  his 
charmer  dances :  he  pursues  her — is  refused — is  ac- 
cepted and  jilted  :  breaks  his  heart,  mends  it,  of  course, 
and  goes  on  again  after  some  other  beloved  being,  until 
in  the  order  of  fate  and  nature  he  marries  and  settles,  or 
remains  unmarried,  free,  and  a  Fogy.  Until  then  we 
know  nothing  of  women — the  kindness  and  refinement 
and  wit  of  the  elders ;  the  artless  prattle  and  dear  little 
chatter  of  the  young  ones ;  all  these  are  hidden  from  us 
until  we  take  the  Fogy's  degree :  nay,  even  perhaps 


ON    THE    PLEASURES    IF    BEING    A    FOGY.  173 


from  married  men,  whose  age  and  gravity  entitle  them 
to  rank  amongst  Fogies  ;  for  every  woman,  who  is  worth 
anything,  will  be  jealous  of  her  husband  up  to  seventy 
or  eighty,  and  always  prevent  his  intercourse  with  other 
ladies.  But  an  old  bachelor,  or  better  still,  an  old  wi- 
dower, has  this  delightful  entree  into  the  female  world : 
he  is  free  to  come,  to  go  :  to  listen :  to  joke  :  to  sym- 
pathise :  to  talk  with  mamma  about  her  plans  and  trou- 
bles :  to  pump  from  Miss  the  little  secrets  that  gush  so 
easily  from  her  pure  little  well  of  a  heart ;  the  ladies  do 
not  gener  themselves  before  him,  and  he  is  admitted  to 
their  mysteries  like  the  Doctor,  the  Confessor,  or  the 
Kislar  Aga. 

What  man,  who  can  enjoy  this  pleasure  and  privilege, 
ought  to  be  indifferent  to  it  ?  If  the  society  of  one 
woman  is  delightful,  as  the  young  fellows  think,  and 
justly,  how  much  more  delightful  is  the  society  of  a 
thousand !  One  woman,  for  instance,  has  brown  eyes, 
and  a  geological  or  musical  turn;  another  has  sweet 
blue  eyes,  and  takes,  let  us  say,  the  Gorham  side  of  the 
controversy,  at  present  pending ;  a  third  darling,  with 
long  fringed  lashes  hiding  eyes  of  hazel,  lifts  them  up 
ceiling-wards  in  behalf  of  Miss  Sellon,  thinks  the  Lord 
Chief  Justice  has  hit  the  poor  young  lady  very  hard  in 
publishing  her  letters,  and  proposes  to  quit  the  Church 
next  Tuesday  or  Wednesday,  or  whenever  Mr.  Oriel  is 
ready — and,  of  course,  a  man  may  be  in  love  with  one 
or  the  other  of  these.     But  it  is  manifest  that  brown 


174  THE    PROSER. 


eyes  will  remain  brown  eyes  to  the  end,  and  that,  having 
no  other  interest  but  music  or  geology,  her  conversation 
on  those  points  may  grow  more  than  sufficient.  Sap- 
piiira,  again,  when  she  has  said  her  say  with  regard  to 
the  Gorham  affair,  and  proved  that  the  other  party  are 
but  Romanists  in  disguise,  and  who  is  interested  on  no 
other  subject,  may  possibly  tire  you — so  may  Hazelia, 
who  is  working  altar-cloths  all  day,  and  would  desire  no 
better  martyrdom  than  to  walk  barefoot  in  a  night  pro- 
cession up  Sloane  Street  and  home  by  Wilton  Place, 
time  enough  to  get  her  poor  meurtris  little  feet  into  white 
satin  slippers  for  the  night's  ball — I  say,  if  a  man  can  be 
wrought  up  to  rapture,  and  enjoy  bliss  in  the  company 
of  any  one  of  these  young  ladies,  or  any  other  individu- 
als in  the  infinite  variety  of  Miss-kind — how  much  real 
sympathy,  benevolent  pleasure,  and  kindly  observation 
may  he  enjoy,  when  he  is  allowed  to  be  familiar  with 
the  whole  charming  race,  and  behold  the  brightness  of 
all  their  different  eyes,  and  listen  to  the  sweet  music  of 
their  various  voices ! 


ON    THE    BENEFITS    OF    1SEING    A    FOGY.  1*75 


III. 

ON  THE  BENEFITS  OF  BEING  A  FOGY. 


In  possession  of  the  right  and  privilege  of  garrulity 
which  is  accorded  to  old  age,  I  cannot  allow  that  a  sin- 
gle side  of  paper  should  contain  all  that  I  have  to  say 
in  respect  to  the  manifold  advantages  of  being  a  Fogy. 
I  am  a  Fogy,  and  have  been  a  young  man.  I  see  twenty 
women  in  the  world  constantly  to  whom  I  would  like  to 
have  given  a  lock  of  my  hair  in  days  when  my  pate 
boasted  of  that  ornament ;  for  whom  my  heart  felt  tu- 
multuous emotions,  before  the  victorious  and  beloved 
Mrs.  Pacifico  subjugated  it.  If  I  had  any  feelings 
now,  Mrs.  P.  wo]jJd  order  them  and  me  to  be  quiet : 
but  I  have  none ;  I  am  tranquil — yes,  really  tranquil 
(though,  as  my  dear  Leonora  is  sitting  opposite  to  me 
at  this  minute,  and  has  an  askance  glance  from  her 
novel  to  my  paper  as  I  write — even  if  I  were  not  tran- 
quil, I  should  say  that  I  was),  but  I  am  quiet :  I  have 
passed  the  hot  stage  :  and  I  do  not  know  a  pleasanter 
and  calmer  feeling  of  mind  than  that  of  a  respectable 
person  of  the  middle  age,  who  can  still  be  heartily  and 


176  THE    PR0SER. 


generously  fond  of  all  the  women  about  whom  he  waa 
in  a  passion  and  a  fever  in  early  life.  If  you  cease  lik- 
ing a  woman  when  you  cease  loving  her,  depend  on  it, 
that  one  of  you  is  a  bad  one.  You  are  parted,  never 
mind  with  what  pangs  on  either  side,  or  by  what  cir- 
cumstances of  fate,  choice,  or  necessity, — you  have  no 
money  or  she  has  too  much,  or  she  likes  somebody  else 
better,  and  so  forth ;  but  an  honest  Fogy  should  always, 
unless  reason  be  given  to  the  contrary,  think  well  of  the 
woman  whom  he  has  once  thought  well  of,  and  remem- 
ber her  with  kindness  and  tenderness,  as  a  man  remem- 
bers a  place  where  he  has  been  very  happy. 

A  proper  management  of  his  recollections  thus  con- 
stitutes a  very  great  item  in  the  happiness  of  a  Fogy. 

I,  for  my  part,  would  rather  remember ,  and > 

and (I  dare  not  mention  names,  for  isn't  my  Leo- 
nora pretending  to  read  "the  Initials,"  and  peeping 
over  my  shoulder  ?)  than  be  in  love  over  again.  It  is 
because  I  have  suffered  prodigiously  from  that  passion 
that  I  am  interested  in  beholding  others  undergoing  the 
malady.  I  watch  it  in  ball-rooms  (over  my  cards,  where 
I  and  the  old  ones  sit),  and  dinner-parties.  "Without 
sentiment,  there  would  be  no  flavour  in  life  at  all.  I 
like  to  watch  young  folks  who  are  fond  of  each  other, 
be  it  the  housemaid  furtively  engaged  smiling  and 
glancing  with  John  through  the  area  railings;  be  it 
Miss  and  the  Captain  whispering  in  the  embrasure  of 
the  drawing-room  window — Amant  is  interesting  to  me, 


ON    THE    BENEFITS    OF    BEING    A    FOGY.  /7? 

because   of  amavi — of  course  it  is  Mrs.  Pacifico   1 
mean. 

All  Fogies  of  good  breeding  and  kind  condition  of 
mind,  who  go  about  in  the  world  much,  should  remem- 
ber to  efface  themselves — if  I  may  use  a  French  phrase 
— they  should  not,  that  is  to  say,  thrust  in  their  old 
mugs  on  all  occasions.  When  the  people  are  marching 
out  to  dinner,  for  instance,  and  the  Captain  is  sidling 
up  to  Miss,  Fogy,  because  he  is  twenty  years  older  than 
the  Captain,  should  not  push  himself  forward  to  arrest 
that  young  fellow,  and  carry  off  the  disappointed  girl 
on  his  superannuated  rheumatic  old  elbow.  "When  there 
is  any  thing  of  this  sort  going  on  (and  a  man  of  the 
world  has  possession  of  the  carte  clu  pays  with  half  an 
eye),  I  become  interested  in  a  picture,  or  have  some- 
thing particular  to  say  to  pretty  Polly  the  parrot,  or  to 
little  Tommy,  who  is  not  coming  in  to  dinner,  and  while 
I  am  talking  to  him,  Miss  and  the  Captain  make  their 
little  arrangement.  In  this  way  I  managed  only  last 
week  to  let  young  Billington  and  the  lovely  Blanche 
Pouter  get  together  ;  and  walked  down  stairs  with  my 
hat  for  the  only  partner  of  my  arm.  Augustus  Top- 
lady  now,  because  he  was  a  Captain  of  Dragoons  almost 
before  Billington  was  born,  would  have  insisted  upon 
his  right  of  precedence  over  Billington,  who  only  got 
his  troop  the  other  day. 

Precedence !     Fiddlestick !    Men  squabble  about  pre- 
cedence because  they  are  doubtful  about  their  condition 

8* 


1*78  THE    PROSER. 


as  Irishmen  will  insist  upon  it  that  you  are  determined 
to  insult  and  trample  upon  their  beautiful  country,  whe- 
ther you  are  thinking  about  it  or  no ;  men  young  to  the 
world  mistrust  the  bearing  of  others  towards  them,  be- 
cause they  mistrust  themselves.  I  have  seen  many 
sneaks  and  much  cringing  of  course  in  the  world ;  but 
the  fault  of  gentlefolks  is  generally  the  contrary — an 
absurd  doubt  of  the  intentions  of  others  towards  us,  and 
a  perpetual  assertion  of  our  twopenny  dignity,  which  no- 
body is  thinking  of  wounding. 

As  a  young  man,  if  the  Lord  I  knew  did  not  happen 
to  notice  me,  the  next  time  I  met  him,  I  used  to  enve- 
lope myself  in  my  dignity,  and  treat  his  Lordship  with 
such  a  tremendous  hauteur  and  killing  coolness  of  de- 
meanour, that  you  might  have  fancied  I  was  an  Earl  at 
least,  and  he  a  menial  upon  whom  I  trampled.  Where- 
as he  was  a  simple,  good-natured  creature,  who  had  no 
idea  of  insulting  or  slighting  me,  and,  indeed,  scarcely 
any  idea  about  any  subject  except  racing  and  shooting. 
Young  men  have  this  uneasiness  in  society,  because  they 
are  thinking  about  themselves :  Fogies  are  happy  and 
tranquil  because  they  are  taking  advantage  of,  and  en- 
joying, without  suspicion,  the  good-nature  and  good 
offices  of  other  well-bred  people. 

Have  you  not  often  wished  for  yourself,  or  some 
other  dear  friend,  ten  thousand  a-year  ?  It  is  natural 
that  you  should  like  such  a  good  thing  as  ten  thousand 
a-year;  and  all  the  pleasures  and  comforts  which  it 


ON    THE    BENEFITS    OF    BEING    A    FOGY.  1*79 

brings.  So  also  it  is  natural  that  a  man  should  like  the 
society  of  people  well-to-do  in  the  world  ;  who  make 
their  houses  pleasant,  who  gather  pleasant  pert  ms 
about  them,  who  have  fine  pictures  on  their  walls, 
pleasant  books  in  their  libraries,  pleasant  parks  and 
town  and  country  houses,  good  cooks  and  good  cellars : 
if  I  were  coming  to  dine  with  you,  I  would  rather  a 
good  dinner  than  a  bad  one  ;  if  so-and-so  is  as  good  as 
you  and  possesses  these  things,  he,  in  so  far,  is  better 
than  you  who  do  not  possess  them  :  therefore  I  had 
rather  go  to  his  house  in  Belgravia  than  to  your  lodg- 
ings in  Kentish  Town.  That  is  the  rationale  of  living  in 
good  company.  An  absurd,  conceited,  high-and-mighty 
young  man  hangs  back,  at  once  insolent  and  bashful ; 
an  honest,  simple,  quiet,  easy,  clear-sighted  Fogy  steps 
in  and  takes  the  goods  which  the  gods  provide,  without 
elation  as  without  squeamishness. 

It  ll  only  a  few  men  who  attain  simplicity  in  early 
life.  This  man  has  his  conceited  self-importance  to  be 
cured  of;  that  has  his  conceited  bashfulness  to  be 
"  taken  out  of  him,"  as  the  phrase  is.  You  have  a  . 
disquiet  which  you  try  1?o  hide,  and  you  put  on  a 
haughty  guarded  manner.  You  are  suspicious  of  the 
good-will  of  the  company  round  about  you,  or  of  the 
estimation  in  which  they  hold  you.  You  sit  mum  at 
table.  It  is  not  your  place  to  "  put  yourself  forward." 
You  are  thinking  about  yourself,  that  is ;  you  are 
suspicious  about  that   personage  and  everybody  else 


180  THE    PROSER. 


that  is,  you  are  not  frank  ;  that  is,  you  are  not  well- 
bred  ;  that  is,  you  are  not  agreeable.  I  would  instance 
my  young  friend  Mumford  as  a  painful  example — one 
of  the  wittiest,  cheeriest,  cleverest,  and  most  honest  of 
fellows  in  his  own  circle ;  but  having  the  honour  to 
dine  the  other  day  at  Mr.  Hobanob's,  where  His 
Excellency  the  Crimean  Minister  and  several  gentlemen 
of  honour  and  wit  were  assembled,  Mumford  did  not 
open  his  mouth  once  for  the  purposes  of  conversation, 
but  sat  and  ate  his  dinner  as  silently  as  a  brother  of  La 
Trappe. 

He  was  thinking  with  too  much  distrust  of  himself 
(and  of  others  by  consequence)  as  Toplady  was  think- 
ing of  himself  in  the  little  affair  in  Hyde  Park  to  which 
I  have  alluded  in  the  former  chapter.  When  Mumford 
is  an  honest  Fogy,  like  some  folks,  he  will  neither 
distrust  his  host,  nor  his  company,  nor  himself ;  he  will 
make  the  best  of  the  hour  and  the  people  round»about 
him ;  he  will  scorn  tumbling  over  head-and-heels  for 
his  dinner,  but  he  will  take  and  give  his  part  of  the 
good  things,  join  in  the  talk  and  laugh  unaffectedly, 
nay,  actually  tumble,  over  head-and-heels,  perhaps,  if  he 
has  a  talent  that  way  ;  not  from  a  wish  to  show  off  his 
powers,  but  from  a  sheer  good-humour  and  desire  to 
oblige.  Whether  as  guest  or  as  entertainer,  your  part 
and  business  in  society  is  to  make  people  as  happy  and 
as  easy  as  you  can  ;  the  master  gives  you  his  best  wine 
and  welcome — you  give,  in  your  turn,  a  smiling  hc<\  a 


ON    THE    BENEFITS    OF    BEING    A    FOGY.  181 

disposition  to  be  pleased  and  to  please ;  and  my  good 
young  friend  who  read  this,  don't  doubt  about  your- 
self, or  think  about  your  precious  person.  When  you 
have  got  on  your  best  coat  and  waistcoat,  and  have 
your  dandy  shirt  and  tie  arranged — consider  these  as  so 
many  settled  things,  and  go  forward  and  through  your 
business. 

That  is  why  people  in  what  is  called  the  great  world 
are  commonly  better  bred  than  persons  less  fortunate  in 
their  condition  :  not  that  they  are  better  in  reality,  but 
from  circumstances  they  are  never  uneasy  about  their 
position  in  the  world  :  therefore  they  are  more  honest  and 
simple  :  therefore,  they  are  better  bred  than  Growler, 
who  scowls  at  the  great  man  a  defiance  and  a  determi- 
nation that  he  will  not  be  trampled  upon  :  or  poor 
Fawner,  who  goes  quivering  down  on  his  knees,  and 
licks  my  Lord's  shoes.  But  I  think  in  our  world — at 
least  in  my  experience — there  are  even  more  Growl- 
ers than  Fawners. 

It  will  be  seen,  by  the  above  remarks,  that  a  desire  to 
shine  or  to  occupy  a  marked  place  in  society,  does  not 
constitute  my  idea  of  happiness,  or  become  the  charac- 
ter of  a  discreet  Fogy.  Time,  which  has  dimmed  the 
lustre  of  his  waistcoats,  allayed  the  violence  of  his  feel- 
ings,  and  sobered  down  his  head  with  grey,  should  give 
to  the  whole  of  his  life  a  quiet  neutral  tinge ;  out  of 
which  calm  and  reposeful  condition  an  honest  old  Fogy 


182  THE    PROSER. 


looks  on  the  world,  and  the  struggle  there  of  women 
and  men.  I  doubt  whether  this  is  not  better  than 
struggling  yourself,  for  you  preserve  your  interest,  and 
do  not  lose  your  temper.  Succeeding?  What  is  the 
great  use  of  succeeding?  Failing?  Where  is  the 
great  harm  ?  It  seems  to  you  a  matter  of  vast  interest 
at  one  time  of  your  life  whether  you  shall  be  a  lieu- 
tenant or  a  colonel — whether  you  shall  or  shall  not  be 
invited  to  the  Duchess's  party — whether  you  shall  get 
the  place  you  and  a  hundred  other  competitors  are 
trying  for — whether  Miss  will  have  you  or  not :  what 
the  deuce  does  it  all  matter  a  few  years  afterwards  ? 
Do  you,  Jones,  mean  to  intimate  a  desire  that  History 
should  occupy  herself  with  your  paltry  personality  ? 
The  Future  does  not  care  whether  you  were  a  captain 
or  a  private  soldier.  You  get  a  card  to  the  Duchess's 
party  :  it  is  no  more  or  less  than  a  ball  or  breakfast-  like 
other  balls  or  breakfasts.  You  are  half-distracted  be- 
cause Miss  won't  have  you  and  takes  the  other  fellow, 
or  you  get  her  (as  I  did  Mrs.  Pacifico)  and  find  that 
she  is  quite  a  different  thing  from  what  you  expected. 
Psha!  These  things  appear  as  nought — when  Time 
passes — Time  the  consoler — Time  the  anodyne — Time 
the  grey  calm  satirist,  whose  sad  smile  seems  to  say, 
Look,  0  man,  at  the  vanity  of  the  objects  you  pursue, 
and  of  yourself  who  pursue  them ! 

But  on  the  one  hand,  if  there  is   an  alloy  in  all 


ON    THE    BENEFITS    OF    BEING    A    FOGY.  183 


success,  is  there  not  a  something  wholesome  in  all 
disappointment?  To  endeavour  to  regard  them  both 
benevolently  is  the  task  of  a  philosopher  ;  and  he  who 
can  do  so  is  a  very  lucky  Fogy. 


«y 


MISCELLANIES. 


MISCELLANIES. 


-♦♦♦- 


CHILD'S  PARTIES: 

AND  A  REMONSTRANCE  CONCERNING  THEM. 

I. 

Conceive,  Sir,  that  in  spite  of  my  warning  and  entreaty 
we  were  invited  to  no  less  than  three  Child's  Parties  last 
Tuesday ;  to  two  of  which  a  lady  in  this  house,  who 
shall  be  nameless,  desired  that  her  children  should  be 
taken.  On  Wednesday  we  had  Dr.  Lens's  microscope  ; 
and  on  Thursday  you  were  good  enough  to  send  me 
your  box  for  the  Haymarket  Theatre ;  and  of  course 
Mrs.  S.  and  the  children  are  extremely  obliged  to  you 
for  the  attention.  I  did  not  mind  the  theatre  so  much. 
I  sate  in  the  back  of„the  box,  and  fell  asleep.  I  wish 
there  was  a  room  with  easy  chairs  and  silence  enjoined, 
whither  parents  might  retire,  in  the  houses  where  Chil- 
dren's Parties  are  given.  But  no — it  would  be  of  no 
use :  the  fiddling  and  piano-forte  playing  and  scuffling 
and  laughing  of  the  children  would  keep  you  awake. 
I  am  looking  out  in  the  papers  for  some  eligible 


188  MISCELLANIES. 


schools  where  there  shall  be  no  vacations — I  can't  bear 
those  festivities  much  longer.  I  begin  to  hate  children 
in  their  evening  dresses  :  when  children  are  attired  in 
those  absurd  best  clothes,  what  can  you  expect  from 
them  but  affectation  and  airs  of  fashion  ?  One  day  last 
year,  Sir,  having  to  conduct  the  two  young  ladies  who 
then  frequented  juvenile  parties,  I  found  them,  upon 
entering  the  fly,  into  which  they  had  preceded  me  under 
convoy  of  their  maid — I  found  them — in  what  a  condi- 
tion, think  you  ?  Why,  with  the  skirts  of  their  stiff 
muslin  frocks  actually  thrown  over  their  heads,  so  that 
they  should  not  crumple  in  the  carriage !  A  child  who 
cannot  go  into  society  but  with  a  muslin  frock  in  this 
position,  I  say,  had  best  stay  in  the  nursery  in  her  pina- 
fore. If  you  are  not  able  to  enter  the  world  with  your 
dress  in  its  proper  place,  I  say  stay  at  home.  I  blushed, 
Sir,  to  see  that  Mrs.  S.  didn't  blush  when  I  informed 
her  of  this  incident,  but  only  laughed  in  a  strange  inde- 
corous manner,  and  said  that  the  girls  must  keep  their 
dresses  neat. — Neatness  as  much  as  you  please,  but  1 
should  have  thought  Neatness  would  wear  her  frock  in 
the  natural  way. 

And  look  at  the  children  when  they  arrive  at  their 
place  of  destination  ;  what  processes  of  coquetry  they 
are  made  to  go  through  !  They  are  first  carried  into  a 
room  where  there  are  pins,  combs,  looking-glasses,  and 
lady's-maids,  who  shake  the  children's  ringlets  out, 
spread  abroad  their  great  immense  sashes  and  ribbons, 


child's  parties.  189 


and  finally  send  them  full  sail  into  +he  dancing-room. 
With  what  a  monstrous  precocity  they  ogle  their  own 
faces  in  the  looking-glasses  !  I  have  seen  my  hoys, 
Gustavus  and  Adolphus,  grin  into  the  glass,  and  ar- 
range their  curls  or  the  ties  of  their  neckcloths  with  as 
much  eagerness  as  any  grown-up  man  could  show,  who 
was  going  to  pay  a  visit  to  the  lady  of  his  heart.  With 
what  an  abominable  complacency  they  get  out  their 
little  gloves,  and  examine  their  silk  stockings !  How 
can  they  be  natural  or  unaffected  when  they  are  so  pre- 
posterously conceited  about  their  fine  clothes  ?  The 
other  day  we  met  one  of  Gus's  schoolfellows,  Master 
Chaffers,  at  a  party,  who  entered  the  room  with  a  little 
gibus  hat  under  his  arm,  and  to  be  sure  made  his  bow 
with  the  aplomb  of  a  dancing-master  of  sixty;  and  my 
boys,  who  I  suspect  envied  their  comrade  the  gibus  hat, 
began  to  giggle  and  sneer  at  him ;  and,  further  to  dis- 
concert him,  Gus  goes  up  to  him  and  says,  "Why, 
Chaffers,  you  consider  yourself  a  deuced  fine  fellow,  but 
there's  a  straw  on  your  trowsers."  Why  shouldn't  there 
be  ?  And  why  should  that  poor  little  boy  be  called  upon 
to  blush  because  he  came  to  a  party  in  a  hack-cab  ?  I, 
for  my  part,  ordered  the  children  to  walk  home  on  that 
night,  in  order  to  punish  them  for  their  pride.  It 
rained.  Gus  wet  and  spoiled  his  shiny  boots,  Dol  got 
a  cold,  and  my  wife  scolded  me  for  cruelty. 

As  to  the  airs  which  the  wretches  give  themselves 
about  dancing,  I  need  not  enlarge  upon  them  here,  for 


190  MISCELLANIES. 


the  dangerous  artist  of  the  "Rising  Generation"  has 
already  taken  them  in  hand.  Not  that  his  satire  does 
the  children  the  least  good :  they  don't  see  anything 
absurd  in  courting  pretty  girls,  or  in  asserting  the  supe- 
riority of  their  own  sex  over  the  female.  A  few  nights 
since,  I  saw  Master  Sultan  at  a  juvenile  ball,  standing 
at  the  door  of  the  dancing-room,  egregiously  displaying 
his  muslin  pocket-handkerchief,  and  waving  it  about  as 
if  he  was  in  doubt  to  which  of  the  young  beauties  he 
should  cast  it.  "  Why  don't  you  dance,  Master  Sul- 
tan ?"  says  I.  "My  good  Sir,"  he  answered,  "just look 
round  at  those  girls  and  say  if  I  can  dance  V  Blase 
and  selfish  now,  what  will  that  boy  be,  Sir,  when  his 
whiskers  grow  ? 

And  when  you  think  how  Mrs.  Mainchance  seeks 
out  rich  partners  for  her  little  boys — how  my  own  ad- 
mirable Eliza  has  warned  her  children — "  My  dears,  I 
would  rather  you  should  dance  with  your  Brown  cou- 
sins than  your  Jones  cousins,"  who  are  a  little  rough  in 
their  manners  ;  (the  fact  being,  that  our  sister  Maria 
Jones  lives  at  Islington,  while  Fanny  Brown  is  an 
Upper  Baker  Street  lady) — when  I  have  heard  my  dear 
wife,  I  say,  instruct  our  boy,  on  going  to  a  party  at  the 
Baronet's,  by  no  means  to  neglect  his  cousin  Adeliza, 
but  to  dance  with  her  as  soon  as  ever  he  can  engage 
her — what  can  I  say,  Sir,  but  that  the  world  of  men  and 
boys  is  the  same — that  society  is  poisoned  at  its  source 
— and  that  our  little  chubby-cheeked  cherubim  are  in* 


child's  parties.  191 


structed  to  be  artful  and  egotistical,  when  you  would 
think  by  their  faces  they  are  just  fresh  from  heaven. 

Among  the  very  little  children,  I  confess  I  get 
a  consolation  as  I  watch  them,  in  seeing  the  artless 
little  girls  walking  after  the  boys  to  whom  they  in- 
cline, and  courting  them  by  a  hundred  innocent  little 
wiles  and  caresses,  putting  out  their  little  hands,  and 
inviting  them  to  dances,  seeking  them  out  to  pull 
crackers  with  them,  and  begging  them  to  read  the 
mottoes,  and  so  forth — this  is  as  it  should  be — this  is 
natural  and  kindly.;  The  women,  by  rights,  ought  to 
court  the  men ;  and  they  would  if  we  but  left  them 
alone.* 

And,  absurd  as  the  games  are,  I  own  I  like  to  see 
some  thirty  or  forty  of  the  creatures  on  the  floor  in  a 
ring,  playing  at  petits  jeux,  of  all  ages  and  sexes,  from 
the  most  insubordinate  infanthood  of  Master  Jacky, 
who  will  crawl  out  of  the  circle,  and  talks  louder  than 
anybody  in  it,  though  he  can't  speak,  to  blushing  Miss 
Lily,  who  is  just  conscious  that  she  is  sixteen — I  own,  I 
say,  that  I  can't  look  at  such  a  circlet  or  chaplet  of 
children,  as  it  were,  in  a  hundred  different  colours, 
laughing  and  happy,  without  a  sort  of  pleasure.  How 
they  laugh,  how  they  twine  together,  how  they  wave 
about,  as  if  the  wind  was  passing  over  the  flowers  ' 
Poor  little  buds,  shall  you  bloom  long  ? — (I  then  say  to 

*  On  our  friend's  manuscript  there  is  here  written,  in   a  female  hand* 
writing,  "  Vulgar,  immodest. — E.  S." 


192  MISCELLANIES. 


myself,  by  way  of  keeping  up  a  proper  frame  of  mind) 
— shall  frosts  nip  you,  or  tempests  scatter  you, 
drought  wither  you,  or  rain  beat  you  down  ?  And 
oppressed  with  my  feelings,  I  go  below  and  get  some 
of  the  weak  negus  with  which  Children's  parties  are 
refreshed. 

At  those  houses  where  the  magic  lantern  is  prac- 
tised, I  still  sometimes  get  a  degree  of  pleasure,  by 
hearing  the  voices  of  the  children  in  the  dark,  and  the 
absurd  remarks  which  they  make  as  the  various  scenes 
are  presented — as,  in  the  dissolving  views,  Cornhill 
changes  into  Grand  Cairo,  as  Cupid  comes  down  with  a 
wreath  and  pops  it  on  to  the  head  of  the  Duke  of 
Wellington,  as  Saint  Peter's  at  Rome  suddenly  be- 
comes illuminated,  and  fireworks,  not  the  least  like  real 
fireworks,  begin  to  go  off  from  Fort  St.  Angelo — it  is 
certainly  not  unpleasant  to  hear  the  "  o-o-o's  "  of  the 
audience,  and  the  little  children  chattering  in  the  dark- 
ness. But  I  think  I  used  to  like  the  "  Pull  devil,  pull 
baker,"  and  the  Doctor  Syntax  of  our  youth,  much 
better  than  all  your  new-fangled  dissolving  views  and 
pyrotechnic  imitations. 

As  for  the  conjuror,  I  am  sick  of  him.  There  is  one 
conjuror  I  have  met  so  often  during  this  year  and  the 
last,  that  the  man  looks  quite  guilty  when  the  folding 
doors  are  opened  and  he  sees  my  party  of  children,  and 
myself  amongst  the  seniors  in  the  back  rows.  He  for- 
gets his  jokes  when  he  beholds  me  :  his  wretched  clap- 


child's  parties.  19< 


traps  and  waggeries  fail  liiin  :  lie  trembles,  falters,  and 
turns  pale. 

I  on  my  side  too  feel  reciprocally  uneasy.  What 
right  have  we  to  be  staring  that  creature  out  of  his 
silly  countenance  ?  Very  likely  he  has  a  wife  and  fa- 
mily dependent  for  their  bread  upon  his  antics.  I  should 
be  glad  to  admire  them  if  I  could  ;  but  how  do  so  ? 
When  I  see  him  squeeze  an  orange  or  a  cannon-ball 
right  away  into  nothing  as  it  were,  or  multiply  either 
into  three  cannon-balls  or  oranges,  I  know  the  others  are 
in  his  pockets  somewhere.  I  know  that  he  doesn't  put 
out  his  eye  when  he  sticks  the  penknife  into  it :  or  that 
after  swallowing  (as  the  miserable  humbug  pretends  to 
do)  a  pocket  handkerchief,  he  cannot  by  any  possibility 
convert  it  into  a  quantity  of  coloured  wood-shavings. 
These  flimsy  articles  may  amuse  children,  but  not  us. 
I  think  I  shall  go  and  sit  down  below  amongst  the  ser- 
vants whilst  this  wretched  man  pursues  his  idiotic  de- 
lusions before  the  children. 

And  the  supper,  Sir,  of  which  our  darlings  are  made 
to  partake.  Have  they  dined  ?  I  ask.  Do  they  have 
a  supper  at  home,  and  why  do  not  they  ?  Because  it  is 
unwholesome.  If  it  is  unwholesome,  why  do  they  have 
supper  at  all  ?  I  have  mentioned  the  wretched  quality 
of  the  negus.  How  they  can  administer  such  stuff  to 
children  I  can't  think.  Though  only  last  week  I  heard 
a  little  boy,  Master  Swilby,  at  Miss  Waters'  say,  that 
he  had  drunk  nine  glasses  of  it,  and  eaten  I  don't  know 

9 


194  MISCELLANIES. 


how   many   tasteless   sandwiches   and   insipid    cakes ; 
after  which  feats  he  proposed  to  fight  my  youngest  son. 

As  for  that  Christmas  Tree,  which  we  have  from  the 
Germans — anybody  who  knows  what  has  happened  to 
them  may  judge  what  will  befall  us  from  following  their 
absuid  customs.  Are  we  to  put  up  pine-trees  in  our 
parlours,  with  wax  candles  and  bonbons,  after  the  manner 
of  the  ancient  Druids  ?     Are  we     .     .     . 

.  .  My  dear  Sir,  my  manuscript  must  here  abruptly 
terminate.  Mrs.  S.  has  just  come  into  my  study,  and 
my  daughter  enters,  grinning  behind  her,  with  twenty- 
five  little  notes,  announcing  that  Master  and  Miss  Spec 
request  the  pleasure  of  Miss  Brown,  Miss  F.  Brown, 
and  M.  A.  Brown's  company  on  the  25th  instant. 
There  is  to  be  a  conjuror  in  the  back  drawing-room,  a 
magic  lantern  in  my  study,  a  Christmas  Tree  in  the 
dining-room,  dancing  in  the  drawing-room — "  And,  my 
dear,  we  can  have  whist  in  our  bed-room,"  my  wife  says. 
"  You  know  we  must  be  civil  to  those  who  have  been  so 
kind  to  our  darling  children." 

Spec. 

II. 

Condescending  Sir, 

As  your  publication  (which  an  admirable  critic  in  tin 
Quarterly  Review  justly  pronounces  to  be  the  wondei 
of  the  age)  finds  its  way  to  almost  every  drawing-room 
table  in  this  metropolis,  and  is  read  by  the  young  and 
old  in  every  family,  I  beseech  you  to  give  admission  to 


child's  parties.  195 


the  remonstrance  of  an  unhappy  parent,  and  to  endea- 
vour to  put  a  stop  to  a  practice  which  appears  to  me  to 
be  increasing  daily,  and  is  likely  to  operate  most  inju- 
riously upon  the  health,  morals,  and  comfort  of  society 
in  general. 

The  awful  spread  of  Juvenile  Parties,  Sir,  is  the 
fact  to  which  I  would  draw  vour  attention.  There  is 
no  end  to  those  entertainments,  and  if  the  custom  be 
not  speedily  checked,  people  will  be  obliged  to  fly  from 
London  at  Christmas,  and  hide  their  children  during 
the  holidays.  I  gave  mine  warning  in  a  speech  at 
breakfast  this  day,  and  said  with  tears  in  my  eyes  that 
if  the  Juvenile  Party  system  went  on,  I  would  take  a 
house  at  Margate  next  winter,  for  that,  by  Heavens !  I 
could  not  bear  another  Juvenile  Season  in  London. 

If  they  would  but  transfer  Innocents'  Day  to  the  sum- 
mer holidays,  and  let  the  children  have  their  pleasures 
in  May  or  June,  we  might  get  on.  But  now  in  this 
most  ruthless  and  cut-throat  season  of  sleet,  thaw,  frost, 
wind,  snow,  mud,  and  sore-throats,  it  is  quite  a  tempting 
of  fate  to  be  going  much  abroad ;  and  this  is  the  time 
of  all  others  that  is  selected  for  the  amusement  of  our 
little  darlings. 

As  a  first  step  towards  the  remedying  of  the  evil  of 
which  I  complain,  I  am  obliged  to  look  Mr.  Punch 
himself  in  his  venerable  beard,  and  say,  "You,  Sii, 
have,  by  your  agents,  caused  not  a  little  of  the  mis* 
chief.     I   desire   that,  during  Christmas  time   at  least, 


196  MISCELLANIES. 


Mr.  Leecp  should  be  abolished,  or  sent  to  take  a 
holiday.  Judging  from  his  sketches,  I  should  say  that 
he  must  be  endowed  with  a  perfectly  monstrous  organ 
of  philoprogenitiveness  ;  he  revels  in  the  delineation  of 
the  dearest  and  most  beautiful  little  boys  and  girls  in 
turned-down  collars  and  broad  sashes,  and  in  the 
Almanack,  just  published,  produces  a  picture  of  a 
child's  costume  ball,  in  which  he  has  made  the  little 
wretches  in  the  dresses  of  every  age,  and  looking  so 
happy,  beautiful,  and  charming,  that  I  have  carefully 
kept  the  picture  from  the  sight  of  the  women  and 
children  of  my  own  household,  and — I  will  not  say 
burned  it,  for  I  had  not  the  heart  to  do  that — but 
locked  it  away  privately,  lest  they  should  conspire  to 
have  a  costume  ball  themselves,  and  little  Polly  should 
insist  upon  appearing  in  the  dress  of*  Ann  Bullen,  or 
little  Jacky  upon  turning  out  as  an  Ancient  Britjfn." 

An  odious,  revolting,  and  disagreeable  practice,  Sir,  I 
say,  ought  not  to  be  described  in  a  manner  so  atro 
ciously  pleasing.  The  real  satirist  has  no  right  to  lead 
the  public  astray  about  the  Juvenile  Fete  nuisance,  and 
to  describe  a  child's  ball  as  if  it  was  a  sort  of  Paradise, 
and  the  little  imps  engaged  as  happy  and  pretty  as  so 
many  cherubs.  They  should  be  drawn,  one  and  all,  as 
hideous — disagreeable — distorted — affected — jealous  of 
each  other — dancing  awkwardly — with  shoes  too  tight 
for  them — over-eating  themselves  at  supper — very  un- 
well (and  deservedly  so)  the  next  morning,  with  Mamma 


child's  parties.  19*1 


*- 


administering  a  mixture  made  after  the  Doctor's  pre- 
scription, and  which  should  be  painted  awfully  black,  in 
an  immense  large  teacup,  and  (as  might  be  shown  by 
the  horrible  expression  on  the  little  patient's  face)  of 
the  most  disgusting  flavour.  Banish,  I  say,  that  Mr 
Leech  during  Christmas  time,  at'  least ;  for  by  a  mis- 
placed kindness  and  absurd  fondness  for  children,  he  is 
likely  to  do  them  and  their  parents  an  incalculable 
quantity  of  harm. 

As  every  man,  Sir,  looks  at  the  world  out  of  his  own 
eyes  or  spectacles,  or,  in  other  words,  speaks  of  it  as  he 
finds  it  himself,  I  will  lay  before  you  my  own  case, 
being  perfectly  sure  that  many  another  parent  will 
sympathise  with  me.  My  family,  already  inconveniently 
large,  is  yet  constantly  on  the  increase,  and  it  is  out  of 
the  question  that  Mrs.  Spec  should  go  to  parties,  as 
that  admirable  woman  has  the  best  of  occupations  at 
home,  where  she  is  always  nursing  the  baby.  Hence, 
it  becomes  the  father's  duty  to  accompany  his  children 
abroad  and  t<5  give  them  pleasure  during  the  holi- 
days. 

Our  own  place  of  residence  is  in  South  Carolina 
Place,  Clapham  Road  North,  in  one  of  the  most  healthy 
of  the  suburbs  of  this  great  City.  But  our  relatives  and 
acquaintances  are  numerous;  and  they  are  spread  all 
over  the  town  and  its  outskirts.  Mrs.  S.  has  sisters 
married,  and  dwelling  respectively  in  Islington,  Haver- 
stock  Hill,  Bedford  Place,  Upper  Baker   Street,  and 


198  MISCELLANIES. 


Tyburn  Gardens ;  besides  the  children's  grandmother, 
Kensington  Gravel  Pits,  whose  parties  we  are  all  of 
course  obliged  to  attend.  A  very  great  connexion  of 
curs,  and  nearly  related  to  a  B-r-n-t  and  M.P.,  lives  not  a 
hundred  miles  from  B-lg-ve  Square.  I  could  enumerate 
a  dozen  more  places  where  our  kinsmen  or  intimate 
friends  are — heads  of  families  every  one  of  them,  with 
their  quivers  more  or  less  full  of  little  arrows. 

What  is  the  consequence  ?  I  herewith  send  it  to 
you  in  the  shape  of  these  eighteen  inclosed  notes, 
written  in  various  styles  more  or  less  correct,  and 
corrected  from  Miss  Fanny's,  aged  seven,  who  hopes  in 
lound  hand,  that  her  dear  cousins  will  come  and  drink 
i«a  with  her  on  New  Year's  Eve,  her  birth-day, — to 
Jiat  of  the  Governess  of  the  B-r-n-t  in  question,  who 
requests  the  pleasure  of  our  company  at  a  ball,  a  con- 
juror, and  «  Christmas  Tree.  Mrs.  Spec,  for  the  valid 
reason  above  stated,  cannot  frequent  these  meetings  :  I 
am  the  deplorable  chaperon  of  the  young  people.  I  am 
called  upon  to  conduct  my  family  five  miles  to  tea  at 
six  o'clock.  No  count  is  taken  of  our  personal  habits, 
hours  of  dinner,  or  intervals  of  rest.  We  are  made  the 
victims  of  an  infantile  conspiracy,  nor  will  the  lady  of 
the  house  hear  of  any  revolt  or  denial. 

"  Why,"  says  she,  with  the  spirit  which  becomes  a 
woman  and  mother,  "you  go  to  your  ma?i>s  parties 
eagerly  enough :  what  an  unnatural  wretch  you  must 
be   to  grudge   your   children    their   pleasures!"     She 


child's  parties.  199 

looks  round,  sweeps  all  six  of  them  into  her  arms,  whilst 
the  baby  on  her  lap  begins  to  bawl,  and  you  are 
assailed  by  seven  pairs  of  imploring  eyes,  against  which 
there  is  no  appeal.  You  must  go.  If  you  are  dying 
of  lumbago,  if  you  are  engaged  to  the  best  of  dinners, 
if  you  are  longing  to  stop  at  home  and  read  Macau- 
lay,  you  must  give  up  all  and  go. 

And  it  is  not  to  one  party  or  two,  but  to  almost  all 
You  must  go  to  the  Gravel  Pits,  otherwise  the  Grand- 
mother will  cut  the  children  out  of  her  will,  and  leave 
her  property  to  her  other  grand-children.  If  you  refuse 
Islington,  and  accept  Tyburn  Gardens,  you  sneer  at  a 
poor  relation,  and  acknowledge  a  rich  one  readily 
enough.  If  you  decline  Tyburn  Gardens,  you  fling 
away  the  chances  of  the  poor  dear  children  in  life,  and 
the  hopes  of  the  cadetship  for  little  Jacky.  If  you  go 
to  Hampstead,  having  declined  Bedford  Place,  it  is 
because  you  never  refuse  an  invitation  to  Hampstead, 
where  they  make  much  of  you,  and  Miss  Maria  is 
pretty,  (as  you  think,  though  your  wife  doesn't,)  and  do 
not  care  for  the  Doctor  in  Bedford  Place.  And  if  you 
accept  Bedford  Place,  you  dare  not  refuse  Upper  Baker 
Street,  because  there  is  a  coolness  between  the  two 
families,  and  you  must  on  no  account  seem  to  take  part 
with  one  or  the  other. 

In  this  way  many  a  man  besides  myself,  I  dare  say, 
finds  himself  miserably  tied  down,  and  a  helpless 
prisoner,  like  Gulliver  in  the  hands  of  the  Liliputians. 


200  MISCELLANIES. 


Let  us  just  enumerate  a  few  of  the  miseries  of  the 
pitiable  parental  slave. 

In  the  first  place  examine  the  question  in  a  pecuniary 
point  of  view.     The  expenses  of  children's  toilets  at  this 
resent  time  are  perfectly  frightful. 

My  eldest  boy,  Gustavus,  at  home  from  Dr.  Birch's 
Academy,  Rodwell  Regis,  wears  turquoise  studs,  fine 
linen  shirts,  white  waistcoats,  and  shiny  boots  :  and, 
when  I  proposed  that  he  should  go  to  a  party  in  Berlin 
gloves,  asked  me  if  I  wished  that  he  should  be  mistaken 
for  a  footman  ? 

My  second,  Augustus,  grumbles  about  getting  his 
elder  brother's  clothes,  nor  could  he  be  brought  to 
accommodate  himself  to  Gustavus's  waistcoats  at  all, 
had  not  his  mother  coaxed  him  by  the  loan  of  her 
chain  and  watch,  which  latter  the  child  broke,  after 
many  desperate  attempts  to  wind  it  up. 

As  for  the  little  fellow,  Adolphus,  his  mother  has 
him  attired  in  a  costume  partly  Scotch,  partly  Hunga- 
rian, mostly  buttons,  and  with  a  Louis  Quatorze  hat 
and  scarlet  feather,  and  she  curls  this  child's  hair  with 
her  own  blessed  tongs  every  night. 

I  wish  she  would  do  as  much  for  the  girls,  though  : 
but  no,  Monsieur  Florid  or  must  do  that :  and  accord- 
ingly, every  day  this  season,  that  abominable  little 
Frenchman,  who  is,  I  have  no  doubt,  a  Red  Republican, 
and  smells  of  cigars  and  hair-oil,  comes  over,  and,  at  a 
cost  of  eighteenpence  par  tete,  figs  out  my  little  crea- 


child's  parties.  201 


tures'  heads    with    fixature,    bandoline,    crinoline — the 
deuce  knows  what. 

The  bill  for  silk  stockings,  sashes,  white  frocks,  is  so 
enormous,  that  I  have  not  been  able  to  pay  my  own 
tailor  these  three  years. 

The  bill  for  flys  to  'Amstid  and  back,  to  Hizzlinton 
and  take  up,  &c,  is  fearful.  The  drivers,  in  this  extra 
weather,  must  be  paid  extra,  and  they  drink  extra. 
Having  to  go  to  Hackney  in  the  snow,  on  the  night  of 
the  5th  of  January,  our  man  was  so  hopelessly  ine- 
briated, that  I  was  compelled  to  get  out  and  drive 
myself;  and  I  am  now,  on  what  is  called  Twelfth  Day 
(with,  of  course,  another  child's  party  before  me  for  the 
evening),  writing  this  from  my  bed,  Sir,  with  a  severe 
cold,  a  violent  toothache,  and  a  most  acute  rheumatism. 

As  I  hear  the  knock  of  our  medical  man,  whom  an 
anxious  wife  has  called  in,  I  close  this  letter ;  asking 
leave,  however,  if  I  survive,  to  return  to  this  painful 
subject  next  week.  And,  wishing  you  a  merry  !  New 
Year,  I  have  the  honour  to  be,  dear  Mr.  Punch, 

Your  constant  reader, 

Spec. 


0* 


202  MISCELLANIES. 


THE  STORY  OF  KOOMPANEE  JEHAN. 


Some  time  after  the  death  of  Aurungzebe,  a  mighty 
prince  held  domination  over  India,  from  the  seven  mouths 
of  the  Ganges  to  the  five  tails  of  the  Indus,  who  was 
renowned  above  most  other  monarchs  for  his  strength, 
riches,  and  wisdom.  His  name  was  Koompanee  Jehan. 
Although  this  monarch  had  innumerable  magnificent 
palaces  at  Delhi  and  Agra,  at  Benares,  Boggleywollah, 
and  Ahmednugger,  his  common  residence  was  in  the 
beautiful  island  of  Ingleez,  in  the  midst  of  the  capital  of 
which,  the  famous  city  of  Lundoon,  Koompanee  Jehan 
had  a  superb  castle.  It  was  called  the  Hall  of  Lead, 
and  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  Mountain  of  Corn,  close  by 
the  verdure-covered  banks  of  the  silvery  Tameez,  where 
the  cypresses  wave  and  the  zendewans  or  nightingales 
love  to  sing.  In  this  palace  he  sate  and  gave  his  orders, 
to  govern  the  multitudinous  tribes  which  paid  him 
tribute  from  the  Cashmerian  hills  to  the  plains  watered 
by  the  Irrawaddy. 

The  great  Koompanee  Jehan  governed  his  dominions 
with  the  help  of  a  council  of  twenty-four  vizeers,  who 


THE  STORY  OF  KOOMPANEE  JEHAN.       203 

assembled  daily  in  the  Hall  of  Lead,  and  who  were 
selected  from  among  the  most  wealthy,  wise,  brave,  and 
eminent  of  the  merchants,  scribes,  and  warriors  in  the 
service  of  his  vast  empire.  It  must  have  been  a  grand 
sight  to  behold  the  twenty-four  sages  assembled  in 
Durbar,  smoking  their  kaleoons  round  the  monarch's 
magnificent  throne. 

It  was  only  by  degrees,  and  by  the  exercise  of  great 
cunning  and  prodigious  valour,  that  the  illustrious 
Koompanee  Jehan  had  acquired  the  vast  territory 
over  which  he  ruled.  By  picking  endless  quarrels  in 
which  he  somehow  always  seemed  to  be  in  the  right, 
and  innumerable  battles  in  which  his  bravery  ever  had 
the  uppermost,  he  added  kingdom  after  kingdom  to  his 
possessions.  Thus  the  Rajahs,  Princes,  and  Emperors 
of  India  fell  before  the  sword  of  his  servants ;  and  it  is 
known  that  Boonapoort,  Tippoo  Sahib  the  Mysore 
Sultan,  and  Iskender  Shah,  who  conquered  Porus 
Singh  on  the  banks  of  the  Indus,  were  severally  over- 
come by  the  lieutenants  of  the  victorious  warrior  who 
dwelt  in  the  Hall  of  Lead.  One  of  his  chieftains,  the 
great  Elleen-Burroo,  a  stronger  man  than  Antar 
himself,  carried  off  the  gates  of  Somnauth  on  his  back 
and  brought  them  to  the  foot  of  the  throne  of  the 
palace,  on  the  Mountain  of  Corn,  by  the  banks  of  th6 
Tameez. 

This  mighty  monarch,  who  had  guns  enough  to  blow 
this  world  into  Jehanum,  and  who  counted  his  warriors 


204  MISCELLANIES. 


by  lakhs,  was,  like  many  other  valiant  sovereigns,  the 
slave  of  a  woman ;  and  historians  assert  that  he  gave  up 
the  chief  government  of  his  country  to  the  Empress,  his 
mother,  the  Queen  of  the  Ingleez,  of  whom  he  was  so 
fond  that  he  could  deny  her  nothing.  He  appointed 
the  Captains  and  Colonels  of  his  regiments,  but  the 
Empress  nominated  all  the  chief  Generals ;  and  the 
chiefs  of  Koompanee  Jehan,  who  had  carried  his  flag- 
in  a  hundred  battles,  and  notched  their  scimitars  across 
the  head-pieces  of  thousands  of  his  foes,  were  not  a 
little  angry  to  see  strangers  put  over  them,  who  came 
from  Lundoon  smelling  of  musk  and  rose-water,  and 
who  got  the  lion's  share  of  the  honours,  while  they 
took  no  more  (as  who  indeed  can  ?)  than  the  lion's  share 
of  the  fighting.  Thus,  in  a  famous  action  in  Kabool,  a 
certain  Captain  of  Artillery  blew  open  the  gates  of  the 
city,  but  it  was  the  General,  Keen  Bahawder,  who 
was  made  a  bashaw  of  three  tails  for  the  feat  which  the 
other  had  done :  and  for  a  series  of  tremendous  actions 
on  the  Sutlej  River,  Harding  Shah,  Smith  Sahib,  and 
Goof  Bahawder  were  loaded  with  honours,  and  had 
their  mouths  well  nigh  choked  with  barley-sugar; 
whereas  one  of  Koompanee's  own  warriors,  Littler 
Singh,  a  better  soldier  than  any  of  those  other  three, 
was  passed  over  with  scarcely  a  kind  word. 

In  consequence  of  this  system — for  the  Empress 
mother  would  often  cause  her  son  to  select  Generals 
who  had  no  more  brains  than  a  wezz  or  goose — disas- 


THE  STORY  OF  KOOMPANEE  JEHAN.       205 

ters  frequently  befel  Koompanee  Jehan's  armies,  and 
that  prince  had  many  a  bekhelool  or  hard  nut  to  crack- 
One  army  was  waylaid  and  utterly  destroyed,  because 
the  Queen  Mother  chose  to  give  the  command  of  it  to 
an  officer,  out  of  whom  age  and  illness  had  squeezed  all 
the  valour :  and  another  warrior,  though  as  brave  as 
Roostum,  yet  was  a  hundred  years  old,  and  had  been 
much  better  at  home  handling  a  pipe  than  a  sword,  for 
which  his  old  hands  were  now  quite  unfit.  Lion  as  he 
was,  Goof  Bahawder  did  not  remember  that  the 
enemy  with  whom  he  had  to  do  were  derans  or  foxes, 
and  that  a  pack  of  foxes  is  more  dangerous  than  a  lion 
in  a  pit.  Finding  one  day  the  enemy  posted  in  a  jungle, 
this  Goof  Bahawder  sent  his  troops  in  upon  them 
helter-skelter ;  but  some  fled,  many  were  slain,  Goof 
Bahawder  had  a  dismal  account  of  the  battle  to  render, 
and  when  he  claimed  a  victory,  people  only  laughed  at 
his  ancient  beard. 

That  is,  they  would  have  laughed,  but  the  people  of 
Lundoon  were  in  too  great  a  rage  to  be  merry.  Every- 
where, in  every  house,  and  from  the  highest  to  the 
lowest,  from  the  Omrahs  and  Lords  prancing  about  in 
the  Meidan,  to  the  camel-drivers  in  the  streets,  all  men 
cried  out ;  and  the  Indian  soldiers  said,  "  Why  is  this 
old  man  to  be  left  to  jeopardise  the  lives  of  warriors, 
and  bring  our  country  to  sorrow  ?  If  the  Queen-mother 
will  appoint  chiefs  for  the  armies  of  India,  over  the 
heads  of  those  who  are  as  brave  and  more  experienced. 


206  MISCELLANIES., 


let  her  give  us  men  that  are  fit  to  lead  us.  Who  ia 
Goof,  and  who  is  Elphinstoon,  and  who  is  Keen,  to 
whom  you  give  all  the  honours  ?  And  what  are  they 
to  compare  to  Thackwell  and  Littler,  to  Nott  and 
Pollock  Khan  ?" 

Now  there  was,  when  the  news  came  to  the  City  of 
Lundoon,  that  Goof  Bahawder  had  been  beaten  upon 
the  banks  of  the  Chenaub,  a  warrior  who,  though  rather 
old,  and  as  savage  as  a  bear  whose  head  is  sore,  was 
allowed  by  all  mankind  to  be  such  a  Roostum  as  had 
never  been  known  since  the  days  of  Wellingtoon.  His 
name  was  Napeer  Sing.  He  with  two  thousand  men 
had  destroyed  thirty  thousand  of  the  enemy  :  he  despis- 
ed luxury :  he  had  a  beak  like  an  eagle,  and  a  beard 
like  a  Cashmere  goat.  When  he  went  into  a  campaign 
he  took  with  him  but  a  piece  of  soap  and  a  pair  of 
towels :  he  dined  off  a  hunch  of  bread  and  a  cup  of 
water.  "  A  warrior,"  said  he,  "  should  not  care  for  wine 
or  luxury,  for  fine  turbans  or  embroidered  shulwars; 
his  tulwar  should  be  bright,  and  never  mind  whether 
his  papooshes  are  shiny."  Napeer  Sing  was  a  lion 
indeed  ;  and  his  mother  was  a  mother  of  lions. 

But  this  lion,  though  the  bravest  of  animals,  was  the 
most  quarrelsome  that  ever  lashed  his  tail  and  roared 
in  a  jungle.  After  gaining  several  victories,  he  became 
so  insolent  and  contemptuous  in  his  behaviour  towards 
King  Koompanee  Jehan,  whom  he  insulted,  whom  he 
assailed,  whom  he  called  an  old  woman,  that  the  offend- 


THE  STORY  OF  KOOMPANEE  JEHAN.       207 

ed  monarch  was  glad  when  General  Napeer  Sing's 
time  of  service  was  out,  and  vowed  no  more  to  employ 
him. 

It  is  related  of  Napeer  Singh,  that  when  he  was 
recalled  to  the  Island  of  the  Ingleez,  he  went  into  the 
Hall  of  Lead,  where  the  monarch  sate  in  full  Durbar, 
knocked  the  heads  of  the  twenty-four  vizeers  one 
against  another,  and  seizing  upon  King  Koompanee 
himself  by  the  royal  nose,  pulled  him  round  the  room, 
and  kicked  him  over  among  the  sprawling  Counsellors 
of  his  Dewan.  I  know  not  whether  this  tale  is  true ; 
but  certain  it  is,  that  there  was  a  tremendous  tehwash 
or  row,  and  that  when  the  king  heard  the  General's 
name  mentioned,  he  grew  as  yellow  and  as  sour  as  an 
ilemoon  or  lemon. 

When  the  news  of  Goof's  discomfiture  came  to 
Lundoon  and  the  Hall  of  Lead,  and  the  Queen  of  Fer- 
inghistan,  all  the  Ingleez  began  to  quake  in  their  shoes. 
"  Wallah !  wallah !"  they  cried,  "  we  have  been  made 
to  swallow  abominations !  Our  beraks  have  been  cap- 
tured from  our  standard-bearers ;  our  guns  have  been 
seized ;  our  horsemen  have  fled,  overpowered  by  odds, 
and  because  Goof  Bahawder  knew  not  how  to  lead 
them  into  battle.  How  shall  we  restore  the  honor  of 
our  arms  ?  What  General  is  there,  capable  of  resisting 
those  terrible  Sikhs  and  their  Sirdars  ?" 

The  voice  of  all  the  nation  answered,  "  There  is  but 
one  Chief,  and  his  name  is  Napeer  Singh." 


208  MISCELLANIES. 


The  twenty-four  vizeers  in  the  Hall  of  Lead,  remem- 
bering the  treatment  which  they  had  received  from  that 
General,  and  still  smarting  uneasily  on  their  seats  from 
the  kicks  which  he  had  administered,  cried  out,  "  No ; 
we  will  not  have  that  brawling  Sampson — take  any 
man  but  him.  If  Goof  Bahawder  will  not  do,  take 
Goom  Bahawder.  We  will  not  have  Napeer  Singh, 
or  eat  the  pie  of  humility  any  more." 

The  people  still  roared  out,  "  Nobody  can  help  us  but 
Napeer  Singh." 

Now  Napeer  Singh  was  as  sulky  as  the  twenty-four 
vizeers.  "  I  go,"  said  he,  "  to  serve  a  monarch  who  has 
been  grossly  ungrateful,  and  whose  nose  I  have  tweaked 
in  Durbar  ?     Never,  never !" 

But  an  old  General,  nearly  a  hundred  years  old,  brave 
and  wise,  the  Great  Wellingtoon,  came  to  Napeer 
Singh  and  said,  "  0  khan,  in  these  times  of  danger  men 
must  forget  their  quarrels  and  serve  their  country. — If 
you  will  not  go  to  the  Indus,  I  will  go — one  or  other 
of  us  must."  They  were  two  lions,  two  Roostums,  two 
hooked-beaked  eagles  of  war — they  rushed  into  each 
other's  arms,  and  touched  each  other's  beaks.  "  O 
Father,"  Napeer  Singh  said,  "  I  will  go :"  and  he  went 
forth  and  he  bought  a  piece  of  soap,  and  he  got  two 
towels ;  and  he  took  down  from  the  wall  his  bright  and 
invincible  tulwar. 

Meanwhile  the  twenty-four  vizeers  and  King  Koom 
pa  nee  Jehan  had  been  taking  council  in    the  Hall  oi 


THE    STORY    OF    KOOMPANEE    JEHAN.  209 

Lead.  Many  of  the  angry  ones  said,  "No,  we  will  not 
appoint  him  our  General."  Some  of  the  wise  vizeers 
said,  "  Yes,  we  will  appoint  him ;  for  without  him  we 
shall  not  have  a  kingdom  at  all."  At  last  the  King 
himself,  who  was  bajil,  that  is  very  fat,  rose  up  from 
his  throne  and  said — 

"  O  my  Agas,  Omrahs,  Scribes,  and  men  of  Avar. 
There  are  many  things  which  a  man  has  to  put  into  his 
imameh  or  pipe,  which  are  hard  to  smoke,  and  have  an 
unsavoury  perfume :  I  have  been  smoking  a  chill  um  of 
this  sort.  A  kick  is  not  a  pleasant  thing  to  swallow, 
neither  is  a  dose  of  senna.  Adversity  sometimes  pre- 
scribes one,  as  the  Doctor  orders  the  other.  We  have 
had  all  our  beards  pulled,  we  have  been  kicked  round 
the  room,  we  have  been  tumbled  helter-skelter  bv 
this  Roostum.  Bekhesm  !  Bismillah  !  my  sides  ache 
still  with  the  violence  of  his  papooshes.  But  what  of 
this  ?  If  I  am  drowning,  shall  I  refuse  to  live  because 
a  man  pulls  me  out  of  the  water  by  the  nose  \  If  I 
want  to  fly,  shall  I  refuse  a  horse  because  he  kicks  a 
little  ?  I  will  mount  him  in  the  name  of  Fate,  and  ride 
for  my  life.  We  know  how  strong  this  Sams o on  is ;  let 
him  go  in  Heaven's  name,  and  fight  the  enemy  for  us. 
Let  him  go.  Make  out  his  papers ;  give  him  a  khelat, 
and  a  feast  of  honour !"  And  the  wise  and  beneficent 
monarch  sate  down  and  puffed  away  at  his  kaleoon,  as 
the  twenty-four  vizeers,  bowing  their  heads,  cried — "  Be 
it  as  the  King  says." 


210  MISCELLANIES. 


When  the  Ingleez  heard  of  this  Elemzshedeh,  or 
good  news,  they  all  rejoiced  exceedingly ;  and  the 
Queen  of  the  Ingleez  clapped  her  hands  for  joy. 

And  as  for  Napeer  Singh,  he  took  his  two  towels,  and 
his  piece  of  soap,  and  his  scimetar,  and  he  went  away 
to  the  ship  which  was  to  carry  him  to  the  sea. 


SCIENCE    AT    CAMBRIDGE.  211 


SCIENCE  AT  CAMBRIDGE. 


Among  the  new  sciences  which  are  to  be  taught  at 
Cambridge  University,  and  for  the  teaching  of  which 
eminent  Professors  are  to  be  appointed,  we  are  informed 
that  H.R.H.  the  Chancellor,  and  the  Heads,  have  deter- 
mined to  create  two  new  Chairs,  upon  the  applications 
of  the  two  eminent  men  whose  letters  we  subjoin. 

"  To  His  Roil  Highness  the  Chanslor,  and  the  Nobs 
of  the  University  of  Cambridge. 

"  Tom  Spring's. 

"  Sein  perposials  for  astabblishing  new  Purfessurships 
in  the  Univussaty  of  Cambridge  (where  there  is  litell 
enuff  now  lurnt,  as  Evins  knows),  I  beg  leaf  to  hoffer 
myself  to  your  Royal  Ighness  as  Purfessur  of  Sulf- 
defens,  which  signts  I  old  to  be  both  nessary  and  useful 
to  every  young  mann. 

"  I  ave  sean  on  his  entry  into  life  without  knowing 
the  use  of  his  ands,  a  young  chap  fiord  by  a  fellar  of  ^ 
his  sighs ;  and  all  for  the  want  of  those  fust  principills 
which  a  few  terms  under  me  would  give  him. 


212  MISCELLANIES. 


"  I  ave  sean,  on  the  contry,  many  an  honfest  young 
Mann  pervented  from  doing  right  and  knockin  down  a 
raskle  who  insults  a  lady  in  distress,  or  chaughs  you,  or 
anythink,  simply  from  not  knowing  how  to  imploy  them 
fistis  which  natur  has  endowd  him  with,  and  which  it  ia 
manifest  were  not  made  for  nothink. 

"  I  old  that  the  fust  use  of  a  man's  ands  is  to  fight 
with ;  and  that  the  fust  and  most  nessary  duty  of  a 
feller  is  to  know  how  to  defend  his  nob. 

"  I  should  like  to  know  in  some  instanses  whether  all 
your  Algibry  and  Mathamadix,  your  Greik  and  Latn  and 
that,  would  serve  a  young  gent  half  so  well  as  a  good 
nollidge  of  sparring  and  fibbing,  which  I  shall  be  appy 
to  teach  him,  has  also  to  serve  any  Ead  of  any  Ouse  in 
the  Unaversaty. 

"  Peraps  I  could  not  stand  up  before  Dr.  Biggwhigg 
and  Doctor  Squartoes  in  the  Latn  Mathamadics ;  but 
could  they  stand  up  to  me  with  the  gloves  ?  Why,  I 
would  wop  them  with  one  and,  and  ingage  to  make  the 
young  gentlemen  of  the  Univussaty  to  do  likewise. 

"Therefor  I  propose  to  your  Royal  Ighness  and  the 
Eads  of  Ouses,  to  allow  the  manly  ar»d  trew  English 
Scients  of  Boxint  to  be  took  up  for  honours  by  the 
young  gentlemen  of  Cambridge.  Igsamanations  might 
be  eld  in  the  Sennit  House,  both  with  and  without  the 
mufflers,  it  would  be  a  pretty  site — plesnt  to  parints  (for 
what  sight  can  be  nobler  than  for  a  fond  mother  to  see 
a  galliant  young  feller  pitchin  into  his  man  in  good 


SCIENCE    AT    CAMBRIDGE.  213 

style,  or  taking  his  punishment  like  a  trump  ?)  and  would 
etract  quanties  of  foreigners  and  ladies  to  the  Uniwur- 
saty,  like  the  Hancient  games  of  the  Koman  athleeks. 

"The  Cribb  Purfessurship  in  the  branch  of  Matha- 
matacal  Science,  which  I'm  blest  if  it  isn't,  I  purpose  to 
your  Roil  Consideration,  and  ham, 
"  With  the  deepest  respect, 

"  Your  Royal  Highness's  obedient  to  command, 

"  Benjamin  Bendigo." 


From  Professor  Soyer. 

"  Pall  Pall. 
"Mighty   Prince,   and    Reverend    and   Illustrious 

Gentlemen  ! 

"It  has  been  universally  allowed  by  most  na- 
tions, that  Science  would  be  vain  if  it  did  not  tend  to 
produce  happiness,  and  that  that  science  is  the  great- 
est, by  which  the  greatest  amount  of  happiness  is  pro- 
duced. 

"  I  agree  with  the  poet  Solon  in  this  remark — and 
if,  as  I  have  no  doubt  it  is  one  which  has  also  struck  the 
august  intelligence  of  your  Royal  Highness — I  beg  to 
ask  with  retiring  modesty,  what  Science  confers  greater 
pleasure  than  that  which  I  have  the  honour  to  profess, 
and  which  has  made  my  name  famous  throughout  the 
world  ? 

"  Eating  is  the  first  business  of  a  man.     If  his  food  is 


214  MISCELLANIES. 


unpleasant  to  him,  his  health  suffers,  his  labour  is  not 
so  productive,  his  genius  deteriorates,  and  his  progeny 
dwindles  and  sickens.  A  healthy  digestion,  on  the 
other  hand,  produces  a  healthy  mind,  a  clear  intellect,  a 
vigorous  family,  and  a  series  of  inestimable  benefits 
to  generations  yet  unborn  :  and  how  can  you  have  a 
good  digestion,  I  ask,  without  a  good  dinner  ?  and  how 
have  a  good  dinner,  without  knowing  how  to  cook  it  ? 

"  May  it  please  your  Royal  Highness  Consort  of  the 
Imperial  Crown  of  England,  and  you  ye  learned  and 
reverend  doctors,  proctors,  provosts,  gyps,  and  common 
sizars  of  the  Royal  University  of  Cambridge,  now  that 
you  are  wisely  resolved  to  enlarge  the  former  narrow 
sphere  of  knowledge  in  which  your  pupils  move. — I  ask 
you  at  once,  and  with  unanimity,  to  ordain  that  MY 
Science  be  among  the  new  ones  to  be  taught  to  the 
ingenuous  youth  of  England. 

"  Mine  is  both  a  physical  and  moral  science — phy- 
sical, it  acts  on  the  health ;  moral,  on  the  tempers  and 
tastes  of  mankind.  Under  one  or  other  of  these  heads 
then,  it  deserves  to  be  taught  in  the  famous  Halls  of 
Cambridge.  I  demand  and  humbly  request  that  the 
SOYER  PROFESSORSHIP  of  Culinarious  Science,  be 
established  without  loss  of  time.  And  I  ask  of  vour 
Imperial  Highness  and  the  learned  Heads  of  the  Uni- 
versity, what  knowledge  more  useful  than  that  which  I 
possess  and  profess  could  be  conferred  upon  a  rising  and 
ardent  youth  ? 


SCIENCE    AT    CAMBRIDGE.  215 


"  Who  are  the  young  men  of  Cambridge  ?  They  are 
brought  up  for  the  most  part  to  the  study  of  the  Law 
or  the  Church. 

"  Those  who  have  partaken  of  food  in  the  miserable 
chambers  of  the  law  student,  and  seen  their  cadaverous 
appearance  and  unearthly  voracity,  will  at  once  agree 
with  me  that  they  are  in  a  lamentable  state  as  regards 
eating.     But  it  is  of  the  other  profession  which  I  speak. 

"  I  can  conceive  now  no  person  so  likely  to  become 
eminently  useful  and  beloved  as  an  interesting  young 
ecclesiastic  going  down  to  take  possession  of  his  curacy 
in  a  distant  and  barbarous  province,  where  the  inhabit- 
ants eat  their  meat  raw,  their  vegetables  crude,  and 
know  no  difference  between  a  white  and  a  brown  sauce. 
— I  say,  most  noble,  mighty,  and  learned  Sirs,  I  can 
conceive  of  no  character  more  delightful  than  a  young 
curate  coming  into  such  a  district  after  having  gradu- 
ated honourably  in  MY  science.  He  is  like  Saint  Au- 
gustin,  but  he  bears  a  saucepan  in  his  train,  and  he 
endears  the  natives  to  him  and  to  his  doctrines  by  a 
hundred  innocent  artifices.  In  his  own  humble  home — 
see  my  Regenerator  art,  my  kitchen  at  home — he  gives 
a  model  of  neatness,  propriety,  and  elegant  moderation. 
He  goes  from  cottage  to  cottage,  improving  the  diet  of 
the  poor.  He  flavours  the  labourer's  soup  with  simple 
herbs,  and  roasts  the  stalled  ox  of  the  squire  or  farmer 
to  a  turn.  He  makes  tables  comfortable,  which  before 
were  sickening ;  families  are  united  which  once  avoided 


216  MISCELLANIES. 


each  other,  or  quarrelled  when  they  met ;  health  re- 
turns, which  bad  diet  had  banished  from  the  cottager's 
home ;  children  flourish  and  multiply,  and  as  they  crowd 
round  the  simple  but  invigorating  repast,  bless  the  in- 
structor who  has  taught  them  to  prepare  their  meal. 

Ah !  honoured  Prince,  and  exalted  gentlemen,  what 
a  picture  do  I  draw  of  clerical  influence  and  parochial 
harmony !  Talk  of  schools,  indeed !  I  very  much 
doubt  whether  a  school-inspector  could  make  a  souffle, 
or  S.  G.  O.  of  the  Times  could  toss  a  pancake ! 

"  And  ah !  gentlemen,  what  a  scene  would  the  exa- 
mination which  I  picture  to  myself  present !  The  Pro- 
fessor enters  the  Hall,  preceded  by  his  casserole  bearers  ; 
a  hundred  furnaces  are  lighted ;  a  hundred  elegant  neo- 
phytes in  white  caps,  are  present  behind  them,  exercis- 
ing upon  the  roasts,  the  stews,  the  vegetables,  the  sweets. 
A  Board  of  Examiners  is  assembled  at  a  table  spread 
with,  damask,  and  the  exercises  of  the  young  men  are 
carried  up  to  them  hot  and  hot.  Who  would  not  be 
proud  to  sit  on  such  a  Board,  and  superintend  the  en- 
deavours of  youth  engaged  in  such  labour  ?  Blushing, 
the  Senior  Medallist  receives  the  Vice-Chancellor's  com- 
pliment, and  is  crowned  with  a  fillet  by  the  Yeoman 
Bedell ;  this — this  I  would  fain  behold  in  the  great,  the 
enlightened,  the  generous,  the  liberal  country  of  my 
adoption ! 

"  And  if  ever  British  gratitude  should  erect  a  statue 
to  a  national  benefactor,  1  can  suppose  an  image  of  my- 


SCIENCE    AT    CAMBRIDGE.  21? 

self,  the  First  Professor  of  Cookery  in  Cambridge, 
to  be  elevated  in  some  conspicuous  situation  in  after 
ages,  holding  out  the  nectar  which  he  discovered,  and 
the  sauce  with  which  he  endowed  the  beloved  country 
into  which  he  came. 

"  Waiting  your  answer  with  respectful  confidence,  I 
am,  of  your  Royal  Highness  and  Gentlemen, 

"The  profound  Servant, 

"CORYDON    SOYER." 


10 


218  MISCELLANIES. 


A  DREAM  OF  WHITEFRIARS. 


I  do  not  know  how  it  happened  the  other  day,  that 
after  reading  Dr.  Ullathorne's  letter  in  the  Times,  in 
my  back  shop,  over  a  glass  of  brandy-and-water,  and 
thinking  what  a  mild,  moderate,  artless  letter  the  Bis- 
hop's was,  I  fell  into  a  doze,  from  which  I  was  awaken- 
ed by  the  appearance  of  a  Friar,  with  a  map  of  London 
in  his  hand,  who  had  lost  his  way  to  Smithfield,  whither 
he  said  he  was  bound,  having  been  just  appointed  mas- 
ter of  the  Charter  House  and  Archdeacon  of  London. 

"  Is  Dr.  Rain  then  dead  ?"  said  I,  in  the  Italian 
language,  of  which  I  don't  understand  a  word. 

"  Yes,"  said  he.  "  Have  you  not  heard  ?  All  the 
Archdeacons,  Deans,  and  Bishops,  and  the  two  Arch- 
bishops are  dead ;  and  we  have  come  over  to  take  pos- 
session. Your  religion  is  dead :  it  died  the  night  before 
last.  I  am  to  bury  it ;  and  I  am  walking  about  this 
confounded  town  since  morning.  Pray,  show  me  the 
way  to  the  Chartreux." 

My  daughter  Fanny  Punch,  who  has  just  come  home 
from  a  finishing  school  in  Belgravia,  fell  down  on  her 


A    DREAM    OF    WHITEFRIARS.  219 

knees  at  the  sight  of  this  ragged  old  hermit  and  begged 
his  blessing.  Whereas  ray  son  Jack,  who  is  a  student 
at  Saint  Bartholomew's,  looked  as  savage  as  might  be 
at  the  interesting  foreigner  ;  and  muttered  something 
in  his  teeth  about  "  confound  the  old  Guy  Fawkes,  I'll 
Haynau  him  :"  and  he  was  for  sending  the  Friar  to 
Pimlico  (to  Jericho  he  might  go  if  he  liked,  Jack  said) 
had  I  not  reproved  him  for  his  discourtesy  to  a  stranger. 

Miss  Fanny  went  up  the  chimney  to  get  a  bottle  of 
Eau  de  Cologne  to  wash  the  dear  Father's  feet,  and  to 
work  him  a  pair  of  slippers,  she  said  :  and  Jack  was, 
in  the  meanwhile,  so  struck  by  the  spirited  nature  of  my 
rebuke,  that  he  begged  pardon  of  the  "  old  Buck,"  as 
he  called  him,  and  offered  his  Reverence  my  glass  of 
brandy-and-water,  and  a  penny  Pickwick,  which  the  old 
man,  putting  on  his  mitre,  began  to  smoke. 

It  was  a  very  handsome  mitre,  made  out  of  a  copy 
of  the  Daily  News,  containing  the  Pope's  letter  :  and, 
having  a  bottle  of  red  ink  before  me,  I  painted  a  few 
devils  on  it,  with  my  finger,  so  that  it  became  the  Friar 
very  well.  And  Toby,  smelling  his  wallet,  began 
nuzzling  his  nose  into  it,  where  he  found  a  rack,  a 
thumbscrew,  and  a  stake  ready  for  roasting. 

The  Friar  turned  rather  red  when  Toby  pulled  them 
out,  and  hid  them  away  up  his  sleeve  as  a  dentist  hides 
his  pincers.  I  was  of  course  too  well-bred  to  make  any 
remark,  though  I  saw  that  my  name  was  on  the  stake 
with  a  Latin  inscription  ;  but  went  on  painting  up  the 


220  MISCELLANIES. 


mitre  until  it  was  complete,  when  I  presented  it  to  him, 
and  he  fell  to  drinking  my  brandy-and-water,  till  his 
eyes  began  to  wink  as  if  he  was  for  all  the  world  a 
miraculous  picture. 

Whilst  partaking  of  the  brandy  (which  is  Morel's, 
and  the  very  best  in  London),  he  sang,  to  a  melody  of 
Mozart,  that  beautiful  canticle  of  an  early  English 
divine,  Gualterus  de  Mapes,  beginning  "  Mihi  est  pro- 
position in  taberna  mori,  vinum  sit  appositum  morientis 
ori,"  &c. ;  and  as  I  looked  at  him,  I  remembered  that  I 
had  seen  him  twenty  years  ago,  when  I  was  making  a 
tour  with  my  friends  the  Ivyleafs. 

I  remembered  him  perfectly  well.  He  was  the  first 
friar  I  ever  saw — a  regular  Rabelaisian  Friar,  a  dirty, 
lazy,  red-bearded,  thick-lipped,  leering  vagabond,  crawl- 
ing along  a  wall  in  the  sunshine — looking,  if  ever  man 
did,  slupid,  brutal,  and  idle. 

What  was  the  impression  on  my  mind  on  looking  at 
that  fellow  ?  If  I  had  been  a  sovereign  prince,  and 
administrator  of  the  law,  I  should  have  liked  to  begin 
by  kicking  him  soundly,  and  then  would  have  said, 
"  Take  a  pickaxe  and  dig,  you  lazy  swindler — take 
a  musket  and  march,  you  big  beggar — take  an  oar  and 
pull,  a  hod  and  get  to  work — do  something  to  earn 
your  life,  stupid !  You  shall  fill  your  paunch  at  other 
men's  charges  no  more." 

Our  friend  Mrs.  Ivyleaf  was  one  of  that  company, 
and  saw  like  me  a  Friar  for  the  first  time — and  what 


A    DREAM    OF    Willi EFRIARS.    '  221 

was  the  impression  upon  that  good  woman,  that  kind 
Puseyite  soul  ?  Mrs.  Ivyleaf  confessed  that  she 
should  have  liked  to  kneel  down  and  get  a  blessing 
from  that  venerable  man.  So  different,  in  our  minds, 
were  the  impressions  of  each,  at  the  view  of  our  bare- 
footed friend.  One  wanted  to  kick  him  :  one  to  kneel 
down  at  those  red  shanks,  and  beg  a  blessing  from  that 
beggar.  The  fellow  represented  quite  different  emotions 
to  each  of  us.  To  the  one,  Friend  Barefoot  was  the 
symbol  of  piety,  austerity,  celibate  purity,  charity,  and 
self-denial.  Touching  pictures  of  convent  gates  crowded 
by  poor,  and  venerable  Fathers  feeding  them ;  sweet 
images  of  pale-faced  nuns,  in  moon-lit  cloisters,  march- 
ing to  church,  singing  ravishing  hymns ;  magnificent 
minsters,  filled  with  kneeling  faithful,  and  echoing 
with  pealing  organs ;  altars  crowned  with  roses,  and 
served  by  dear  old  bald-headed,  venerable  priests,  in 
gilt  vestments,  and  little  darlings  of  white-robed  incense- 
boys  ;  confessionals,  and  O  such  dear,  melancholy, 
wasted,  consumptive  clergymen,  with  such  high  fore- 
heads, and  such  fine  eyes,  waiting  within  ! — Mrs.  Ivy- 
leaf  knelt  to  all  these,  no  doubt,  in  her  adoration  of 
her  First  Friar. 

Whereas,  what  was  the  feeling  of  Mr.  Punch? 
Think  of  hard  pinched  peasants,  and  simple  women 
and  children,  depriving  themselves  of  their  meal  to  feed 
that  lazy,  besotted,  ignorant  boor ;  that  pampered 
Flemish  Obi-man,  thought  I !     Think  of  that  fellow's 


222  MISCELLANIES. 


blessing  carrying  a  supernatural  grace  with  it! — of 
yonder  vagabond  assuming  to  be  one  of  the  celestial 
chamberlains,  without  whose  introduction  one  can't  get 
admission  to  the  Courts  of  Heaven  !  Camerier  of  His 
Holiness,  he  carries  his  key,  along  with  begged 
sausages  and  onions,  in  his  wallet.  That  man  means 
ignorance :  that  man  means  superstition :  that  man 
means  priest-worship :  that  man  means  assumption  of 
divine  powers  by  one  man  over  another ;  powers  to 
curse  and  bless ;  to  deny  hope  and  Heaven  ;  powers  to 
separate  wife  and  man,  child  and  father ;  powers  of 
occult  domination,  or  open  tyranny,  or  ruthless  and 
bloody  persecution,  as  it  may  be. — Powers  divinely 
transmitted,  says  Father  Barefoot,  sealed  with  the 
seal  of  the  Fisherman,  and  handed  down  these  eighteen 
hundred  years — Powers  Infernal,  I  say,  to  be  fought 
with  all  weapons,  with  hate,  with  scorn,  with  ridicule, 
with  reason. 

"  Hatred — scorn — my  son  !"  says  Father  Barefoot. 
"  For  shame  !  You  have  good  feelings — why  do  you 
malign  us  so  unjustly  ?" 

"  Look  at  this  image,"  says  he,  taking  one  out  of  his 
bag,  "  this  little  figure  of  a  Sister  of  Charity.  Can  any- 
thing be  more  beautiful  than  she  ?  Think  of  her  deny- 
ing the  world  and  its  vanities ;  gathering  together  the 
little  children  of  the  poor,  and  teaching  them ;  watching 
the  pallets  of  the  sick ;  hanging  over  the  lips  of  the 
fevered  patient,  whispering  consolation,  and  catching  in- 


A    DREAM    OF    WHITEFRIARS.  223 


fection  and  death  for  her  reward.  Here  is  a  missionary 
in  China  or  England.  Death  is  the  end  of  his  career 
— he  knows,  and  braves  it ;  and  Tuy  goes  to  the  sword, 
or  Campian  to  the  gallows,  martyrs  to  the  Truth  which 
they  serve.  Or  look  at  this  venerable  figure,  this  white- 
haired  priest  with  the  infant  in  his  arms,  the  Almoner 
of  Providence,  the  Father  of  the  poor.  Can  all  History 
show  a  character  more  beautiful — can  any  heretic,  how- 
ever hardened,  refuse  his  love  and  reverence  to  St.  Vin- 
cent de  Paul  ?" 

?  Yes,  reverend  Sir,  Saints  and  Martyrs  you  can  show 
in  abundance ;  faith  and  charity  among  your  people, 
goodness  and  virtue,  who  denies  them  ?     I  suppose  the 
most  sceptic  among  us  would  take  off  his  hat  to  Fene- 
lon,  or  ask  a  blessing  of  Pascal.     But  these,  0  pious 
Father,  are  not  the  only  figures  in  your  wallet.     Show 
us  Alva  ;  show  us  Tilly  ;  show  us  the  block  and  the 
fagot  all  over  Europe,  and  by  the  side  of  every  victim  a 
priest  applauding  and  abetting.     Show  us  Borgia  burn- 
ing Savonarola  ;  show  us  Gregory  the  Good  singing 
Te  Deum  for  the  glorious  day  of  Bartholomew,  and 
all  the  Friars  of  Paris,  with  gun  and  dagger,  achieving 
the  victory.    You  say  that  Henry  and  Elizabeth  perse- 
cuted as  well  as  Mary  and  Philip  ?     Yes,  and  by  the 
same  right,  and  by  the  same  logic.     Grant  to  you  or 
them  the  ordering  of  belief  and  the  possession  of  the 
truth  infallible  ;  and  persecution  becomes  a  necessary 
and  laudable  means  of  strengthening  doctrine.     If  by 


224  MISCELLANIES. 


taking  me  out  of  my  shop  in  Fleet  Street,  and  carrying 
me  to  Smithfield,  and  there  roasting  me,  you  can  stop 
my  wicked  tongue,  put  an  end  to  my  pestilent  publica- 
tion, and  frighten  my  family  and  their  children  after 
them  into  orthodox  faith  and  certain  salvation ;  it  is 
much  better  that  I  should  be  roasted.  I  daresay  Fa- 
ther Newman  would  think  it  a  duty  to  look  on.  Ask 
him  whether  his  Church  has  been  a  persecuting  Church 
or  not  ?  Ask  him  whether  persecution  is  lawful  or 
not  ?  Ask  him,  who  loves  the  flogging  of  the  discipline, 
whether  its  application  to  heretic  shoulders  would  not 
be  useful  ?  I  declare  solemnly,  and  vow,  0  Barefoot, 
that  if  I  held  your  belief,  and  if  I  had  the  power,  I 
would  begin  persecuting  to-morrow :  and  I  would  give 
a  dangerous  philosopher  who  doubted  about  the  age  of 
mankind,  a  touch  of  the  rack,  just  to  admonish  him,  as 
Galileo  was  laudably  admonished  by  the  Holy  Office. 
"  Your  Reverence  says,  Psha !  old-world  bigotry, 
wicked  persecution,  and  that  it  is  we  who  are  persecu- 
tors now — not  you. — My  dear  Sir,  look  at  the  Synod  of 
Thurles.  It  was  bigotry  on  our  parts  twenty  years  ago 
to  doubt  that  the  spirit  of  the  Roman  Catholic  clergy  was 
not  one  of  meekness  and  brotherhood.  What  did  they 
want  but  that  our  children  and  theirs  should  be  edu- 
cated together  ?  What  other  desire  had  they  but  that, 
little  heretics  and  little  papists  should  learn  the  A,  B,  C, 
on  the  same  benches,  and  the  rule-of-three  off  the  same 
"^late  ?     Who  could  be  more  quiet,  genteel,  loyal,  and 


A    DREAM    OF    WHITEFRIARS.  225 

retiring  than  a  poor  persecuted  Roman  Ecclesiastic  be- 
fore the  Catholic  Repeal  Act,  desiring  nothing  so  much 
as  fraternity  ;  nothing  but  equal  rights  ;  having  no  wish 
to  ask  anything  from  Government  beyond  that  fair  share 
which  should  belong  to  every  citizen  ?  Now  there  is  a 
Blessed  spelling-book  and  a  Cursed  spelling-book  :  now 
there  is  a  Godly  rule-of-three  and  a  Godless  rule-of- 
three  :  now  division  is  requisite  :  hatred  must  be  organ- 
ized.    How  are  the  Godly  and  Godless  to  live  together  ? 

"  Do  you  suppose  the  story  is  a  new  one  ?  The  Reve- 
rend Mr.  Tartuffe  began  in  this  way.  The  worthy 
man,  kicked  out  by  a  neighbour  with  whom  he  had  been 
playing  the  same  game,  first  entered  into  Orgon's  house 
by  sufferance  ;  hung  about  as  a  humble  retainer ;  made 
himself  useful  by  a  thousand  means  ;  was  so  good,  so 
gentle,  so  correct  in  his  morals  and  edifying  in  his 
speech ;  ate  so  little,  and  was  really  so  agreeable  and 
clever,  that  everybody  was  glad  to  give  him  house-room, 
and  pitied  the  poor  fellow  for  the  monstrous  persecu- 
tions to  which  he  had  been  subject,  and  the  unkind 
things  said  of  him  in  his  former  place.  "We  know  what 
came  next.  He  slowly  went  on  winning  favour,  the  dear 
man ;  and  setting  the  family  by  the  ears.  He  put  the 
father  against  the  son,  and  the  wife  against  the  husband 
He  worked  on  the  terrors  of  some ;  the  follies  of  all ;  until, 
one  fine  day,  when  he  announced  that  the  house  was  his 
own,  and  that  he  was  no  longer  dependent,  but  master. 

"  And  wljat  happened  ?      The  good-natured  drama- 

10* 


226  MISCELLANIES. 


tist  (that  kindest  and  gentlest  of  mortal  men),  who  had 
the  power  over  his  little  creation,  brings  condign  pun- 
ishment on  Mons.  Tartuffe  ;  and  the  curtain  falls  as 
he  is  marched  off  to  prison,  to  the  applause  of  all  the 
spectators  ;  and  with  a  compliment  to  the  author's  gra- 
cious Prince,  the  hater  of  hypocrisy,  the  lover  of  free- 
dom and  justice.  It  was  the  gracious  Prince  who 
revoked  the  Edict  of  Nantes  ;  who  (with  the  applause  of 
the  reverend  the  clergy)  carried  fire  and  sword  amongst 
hundreds  and  thousands  of  honest  citizens,  his  best  sub- 
jects ;  and  who  died  a  drivelling  old  dotard,  wife-and- 
priest-ridden,  his  pride  trampled  down  by  Protestant 
victories,  and  defeated  by  Anglican  Schismatics. 

"  That  is  what  His  Holiness  calls  us  Christians  in 
his  kind  letter,  which  creates  our  country  into  a  pro- 
vince again,  and  provides  us  with  a  dozen  Bishops  and 
a  Primate.  Welcome,  gentlemen  !  Welcome,  my  Lords 
and  your  Eminence !  Come  with  cross  and  banner, 
shaved  heads  and  disciplines.  Come  with  a  winking 
picture,  if  you  like,  and  let  it  wink  on  Ludgate  Hill. 
Come  with  your  gentle  nuns  and  ardent  missionaries : 
come  with  roses,  and  wax  candles,  and  pretty  hymns, 
and  brilliant  processions — and  with  hatred  and  curses, 
and  tyranny  and  excommunication,  such  as  you  know 
how  to  use  in  due  season,  when  ^ou  dare.  What  ?  Is 
Pole  alive  again,  and  Bonner  only  dead  ?  Is  St.  Vi>,- 
cent  de  Paul  resuscitated,  and  holy  Dominic  shut  up  ? 
Has  Ignatius  left  off  swindling ;  and  shirking  disguised 


A    DREAM    OF    WHITEFRIARS.  227 

amongst  families,  and  is  his  fraternity  only  going  to 
teach  in  schools,  and  missionarize  the  Indies  ?  Not  so. 
Other  institutions  change,  but  theirs  is  one,  and  always 
remains  the  same.  You  brag  of  it.  His  Holiness  says 
the  Church  is  always  the  Church.  And  so  it  is  :  with 
the  same  art ;  the  same  arrogance ;  the  same  remorse- 
less logic ;  marching  pitiless  to  the  same  end. 

"And  so,  Father  Barefoot,  your  Reverence,  with 
the  beard  and  sandals,  is  welcome,  as  the  Oratorian 
young  gentlemen  with  the  black  cloaks  and  broad 
brims,  who  parade  our  city.  Why  not  these  as  well  as 
a  Quakers  beaver,  or  a  Bishop's  shovel-hat  ?  You  can't 
give  us,  Englishmen,  a  Church  in  Rome  ;  because  you 
are  avo\^lly  tyrants,  and  intolerant  of  any  creed  but 
your  own.  But  that  is  no  reason  whv  we  should  refuse 
you.  "Walk  in,  gentlemen,  and  you,  old  Barefoot, 
give  us  your  hand,  as  the  practice  of  Englishmen  is, 
before  they  set  to." 

"  -My  good  Sir,  you  are  growing  angry,"  the  Monk 
said.  "  This  conversation  must  end.  I  want  to  get  to 
the  Charter-House,  I  tell  you,  before  the  Angelus ;  and 
see  the  place  where  our  Monks  were  murdered  by  your 
Protestants." 

"  You  go  through  Smithfield,"  I  said,  "  where  our 
Protestants  were  murdered  by  your  Monks." 

And  he  got  up  in  a  huff  to  go  away.  But  I  suppose 
[  must  have  been  in  a  dream,  for  when  he  went  out  I 
thought  my  Monk  had  turned  into  Dr.  Pusey. 


228  MISCELLANIES. 


MR.  PUNCH'S  ADDRESS  TO  THE  GREAT  CITY 

OF  CASTLEBAR. 


Ye  Men  of  Mayo !  Mr.  Hughes,  the  Secretary  of 
the  Castlebar  Industrial  Society  of  Gentlemen !  Your 
letter,  with  its  inclosures,  has  come  to  hand ;  and  as  the 
Castlebar  Industrial  Society  appears  desirous  to  give 
publicity  to  its  resolutions,  I  have  the  honour  to  print 
them,  in  this  the  last  number  of  my  periodkal,  which 
appears  in  this  last  week  of  the  melancholy  year  1850 : 

"  Resolved  :  That  in  consequence  of  the  attacks  made  on  the 
Catholic  religion  of  this  country,  as  well  as  on  all  Catholics 
indiscriminately,  all  over  the  world,  by  that  notorious  paper 
called  Punch  ;  notorious  for  many  falsehoods  and  wicked  inten- 
tions ;  and  although  the  subscription  is  paid  for  some  time  in 
advance,  the  Committee  are  unanimously  of  opinion  that  it 
would  be  encouraging  a  repetition  of  similar  falsehoods  and 
designs,  as  well  as  encouraging  that  fanatical  system  of  igno- 
rance and  intolerance  in  the  misguided  English  people,  to 
receive  it,  for  the  future,  into  their  Reading-Rooms ;  and  our 
Clerk  is  directed  to  give  intimation  of  this  our  intention  to  the 
Proprietor,  as  well  as  to  send  him  a  copy  of  this  Resolution ; 
and  that  the  Telegraph,  the  FreemavUs  Journal,  and  Tablet 
newspapers,  be  supplied  a  copy,  requesting  that  same  will  be 
inserted  in  their  patriotic  papers." 


mr.  punch's  address.  229 

It  appears  from  trie  above  statement,  (1)  that  in  con- 
sequence of  the  attacks  made  by  the  notorious  Punch 
on  the  Catholic  religion  of  Ireland,  and,  indeed,  of  all 
other  countries,  (and  although  the  subscription  is  paid 
for  some  time  in  advance,)  the  Committee  of  the  Cas- 
tlebar  Society  will  not  receive  the  misguided  English 
people  into  their  reading-rooms  :  and  (2)  that  the  Clerk 
is  instructed  to  inform  the  Proprietor :  and  that  the 
editors  of  three  Irish  newspapers  shall  "be  supplied  a 
copy "  of  this  resolution,  requesting  "  that  same  "  will 
be  inserted  in  their  papers. 

As  the  Proprietor  of  the  benighted  English  people,  I 
must  grieve  that  the  doors  of  your  Athenaeum  are  closed 
to  them  :  considering  "  the  subscription  is  paid  for  some 
time  in  advance,"  this  measure  is  hard  upon  my  peo- 
ple ;  but  as  your  Committee  has  come  to  the  resolution, 
I  have  but  to  record  "  that  same,"  and  deplore  the  loss 
which  has  befallen  this  infatuated  nation. 

Sir,  and  good  friend — this  is  the  end  of  the  year  ; 
my  paper  will  appear  upon  a  day  which,  since  the  first 
of  Christmas  days,  has  been  consecrated  to  peace  and 
good-will ;  and  I  am  not  going  to  lose  my  temper  at 
this  season,  or  have  a  word  of  anything  but  kindness, 
for  you  or  any  other  Irishman,  Anglican,  Roman,  Pusey- 
ite,  Gorhamite,  Mormonite,  or  what  not.  This  is  a  truce 
day — and  ought  to  be  held  as  those  days  were  held  in  the 
Peninsular  campaigns,  when  the  French  and  the  Anglo- 
Irish  outposts  came  down  and  talked  to  each  other  in  a 


230  MISCELLANIES. 


friendly  manner,  and  handed  each  other  their  beef  or 
their  brandy-flasks  across  the  water,  with  a  "  Bonjour, 
Paddy  I"  or  "  How  d'ye  do,  Mounseer  ?"  I  hope,  in  the 
neighbouring  capital  of  Tuam,  His  Grace  your  Lord 
Archbishop  will  have  as  good  a  dinner  as  my  Lord 
Bishop.  I  hope  his  Eminence  at  St.  George's  and  his 
Lordship  at  Fulham  will  be  pretty  cheerful ;  and  Doc- 
tor Adler  will  have  a  comfortable  turkey  (without 
sausages)  and  Doctor  Cumming  a  pleasant  dinner, 
though  they  both  of  them  belong  to  sects  which  are  not 
in  the  habit  of  keeping  Christmas. 

And  I  would  that,  the  year  ending  so,  the  next  could 
begin  and  continue  so  ;  and  that  you  and  I,  Mr. 
Hughes,  could  have  no  cause  for  disputing.  But  be- 
fore you  accuse  me  and  others  of  making  attacks  upon 
Catholics  all  over  the  world,  see,  my  good  Sir,  how  it  is, 
and  since  when  it  is,  that  these  hostilities  have  begun  ! 
Not  two  months  ago  we  were  living  in  peace  and  quiet; 
not  two  months  ago,  and  I  had  the  benefit  (or  some- 
body to  whom  you  showed  that  touching  mark  of  con- 
fidence) of  your  subscription  to  my  paper ;  not  very 
many  months  ago,  when  your  people  of  Mayo  were  in 
straits,  who  came  to  help  ?  whose  money  was  it  that 
supplied  you  ?  who '  brought  Indian  corn  and  rice  to 
you  ?  Did  relief  come  from  Rome  or  from  London  ? 
It  was  the  English  Protestants  that  helped  you — and 
who  showed  that  their  meaning  was  peace  and  good- 
will. 


mr.  punch's  address.  231 

What  was  it  altered  the  relations  of  araitv  I     Who 

■ 

was  it  be^an  war  ?  Let  the  Lion  of  St.  Jarlath's  him- 
self  sav,  was  the  truce  broken  bv  us,  or  was  it  the  Pope's 
army  that  marched  upon  us  to  take  possession  of  our 
territory  ?  Industrial  Castlebarians  !  we  appeal  to  you. 
and  ask  who  gave  the  signal  for  the  fight,  and  whether 
it  was  not  his  Eminence  with  his  pastoral  crook  that 
first  occasioned  the  Shaloo  ?  Yes,  it  was  the  march  of 
that  confounded  prelate  from  the  Flaminian  Gate,  who 
came  upon  us  "  rubente  tibia  sacras  jaculatus  arces"  and 
caused  this  abominable  strife  and  uproar. 

Before  that,  we  were  living  in  peace  and  freedom  ; 
before  that,  if  the  services  of  the  Bishop  of  Melipota- 
mus  were  not  required  at  that  remote  see,  he  was  quite 
welcome  to  live  in  Golden  Square  ;  before  that,  our 
Catholic  Mends  lived  in  confidence  with  us,  and  we 
laughed  and  worked  together  ;  Father  Ignatius  was 
as  much  at  libertv  to  wear  a  beard  as  Mr.  Muntz  :  Fa- 
ther  Faber  might  wear  his  cloak  ;  Mr.  Bennett  might 
light  his  candles  ;  the  Lion  of  St.  Jarlath's  might  growl 
now  and  anon — But  Chume  is  a  distant  place,  and  the 
voice  of  Mayo  is  not  very  loud  in  this  city  ;  we  were  all 
at  peace  and  loving  each  other,  or  tolerating  each  other, 
which  is  the  next  thing ;  when  his  Eminence  puts  his 
confounded  crimson  foot  into  our  premises,  and  our 
ivhole  empire  is  at  strife  ;  Lord  John  begins  to  cry  out 
•  Mummery !"  Doctor  Newman  begins  to  tell  us  that 
«re  are  all — I  need  not  say  what ;  the  Bishop  of  Lon 


232  MISCELLANIES. 


don  begins  to  blow  out  poor  Mr.  Bennett's  candles  • 
the  boys  begin  to  hoot  the  Oratorians  in  the  streets ; 
the  Irish  begin  to  thrash  the  policemen  ("  Let  the  Pope 
give  the  word,  we're  the  childthren  of  the  Cmseeders," 
as  Mr.  Ambrose  Phillips  says) ;  Punch  (who  must 
always  be  a  Protestant)  begins  to  caricature  his  Emi- 
nence, and  to  laugh  at  his  stockings ;  and  my  honest 
Castlebar  Industrial  Society  publishes,  not  a  bull,  but 
a  resolution  full  of  bulls ;  and  there's  brawling,  and 
bickering,  and  broken  heads,  and  friends  parting,  and 
fighting  and  fury  all  round. 


Ah,  Mr.  Hughes — ah,  ye  men  of  the  Castlebar  Athe- 
nayum !  it's  hard  to  think  that  the  Pope  of  Rome,  who 
had  been  got  to  allow  one  little  Protestant  Chapel  to 
exist  in  his  city,  in  the  midst  of  these  very  disputes — in 
the  midst  of  these  shrieks  for  freedom  and  fair  play  and 
liberty  of  conscience  with  which  his  officers  are  invoking 
the  genius  of  our  country — it  is  hard,  1  say,  that  the 
Pope  of  Rome  should  have  had  that  one  little  Protest- 
ant Chapel  shut  up  !  On  this  Christmas  Day  our  peo- 
ple can  find  no  refuge  within  the  Pope's  city,  but  must 
go  out  of  the  Flaminian  Gate  to  say  their  prayers. 
Round  the  walls  of  his  capital,  monuments  imperishable 
of  the  constancy  of  Christian  men,  are  caves  and  cata- 
combs, in  which  the  first  bishops  and  believers  in  his 


mr.  punch's  address.  233 


worshipped  and  died  in  secret.  The  symbol  of  his  creed 
is  raised  up  triumphantly  in  the  arena,  where  its  mar- 
tyrs of  old  braved  torture  and  overcame  death  ;  and  the 
apartments  of  his  palace  are  still  decorated  with  pic- 
tures representing  and  lauding  the  slaughter  of  Protest- 
ants. Ah  me !  that  Christian  people  should  ever  have 
sale  for  those  portraits  or  painted  them !  You  who 
sneer  at  the  beadle  who  keeps  guard  at  the  shrine  of 
Saint  Edward,  what  say  you  to  the  librarian  who 
shows  you  the  medal  of  the  Massacre  of  Bartholomew  ? 
If  a  Pope  could  absolve  from  allegiance  to  Elizabeth, 
excuse  us  at  least  for  thinking  that  the  same  fate  might 
befal  the  successors  of  either.  See,  at  any  rate,  that  there 
are  reasons  why  we  must  diner  from  you ;  and  why, 
when  you  make  your  own  claim,  plant  your  own  stand- 
ard, appeal  to  your  own  pedigree,  we  should  advance 
ours  in  our  turn. 

And  when  the  battle  begins  again — May  the  Right 
Side  Win — that  is  a  toast  which  we  all  of  us  can  drink 
on  this  day  of  truce  ;  and  which  concerns  the  humblest 
persons  engaged  as  much  as  it  does  the  Primate  of  all 
England,  in  whichever  part  of  Lambeth  he  be.  May  the 
Right  Side  Win,  and  the  fight  be  conducted  with  manly 
fair-play. 


234  MISCELLANIES. 


IRISH  GEMS. 


FROM  THE  "  BENIGHTED  IRISHMAN." 

Our  troops  having  smashed  through  that  castle,  and 
pulled  down  that  flag,  which  now  floats  over  the  butcher 
Clarendon  and  his  minions,  a  flood  of  prosperity  will 
rush  into  the  country,  such  as  only  the  annals  of  the 
Four  Masters  gives  count  of  since  the  days  of  Brian 
Boroimhe — such  days  of  peace,  plenty,  and  civilization 
shall  not  have  been  known,  as  those  that  are  in  store  for 
our  liberated  Erin. 

There  will  be  a  Capital. 

The  Ambassadors  of  the  foreign  Powers  will  bring 
their  suites  and  their  splendours  to  the  Court  of  the  Re- 
public. The  nobility  will  flock  back  in  crowds  to  our 
deserted  squares.  Irish  poplin  will  rise  in  price  to  ten 
shillings  a  yard,  so  vast  will  be  the  demand  for  that 
web  by  the  ladies  of  our  city.  Irish  diamonds  will 
reach  the  price  of  the  inferior  Golconda  article.  Irish 
linen  and  shirtings  will  rise  immensely.  Indeed,  ah 
Irish  produce,  not  being  depreciated  by  the  ruinous  com- 
petition for  gold,  will  augment  in  value. 

Debt  at  home,  and  absenteeism,  have  been  the  curses 


IRISH    GEMS.  235 


of  our  country.  Henceforth  there  shall  be  no  absentee- 
ism, and  no  debt. 

He  who  refuses  to  live  amongst  us  is  not  of  us — the 
soil  is  for  the  inhabitants  of  the  soil. 

I  have  already,  my  dear  friends,  instructed  you  in  the 
manner  in  which  every  one  of  you  may  get  a  cheap  and 
handsome  property  for  himself,  viz.,  by  holding  pos- 
session of  that  which  you  at  present  occupy.  For,  as 
every  man  has  an  indefeasible  right  to  subsistence,  and 
as  Nature  produces  for  the  good  of  all,  it  is  manifestly 
right  that  the  many  should  have  the  possession,  and  no1 
the  few. 

If  a  landlord  should  object  to  this  arrangement  (who 
is  but  a  mere  accident  on  the  face  of  the  earth),  for  the 
love  of  God,  boys,  get  rifles  and  blow  his  brains  out. 
It  is  much  better  that  a  few  landlords  should  perish,  and 
their  families  (who  have  been  living  on  the  fat  of  the 
land  hitherto,  and  may  therefore  take  a  turn  of  ill  for- 
tune) should  starve,  than  that  multitudes  should  die  of 
want. 

And  thus  the  curse  of  quarter-day  will  be  removed  at 
once  from  this  island  :  and  after  a  very  little  necessary 
slaughter.  For  depend  upon  it,  that  when  two  or  three 
landlords  have  been  served  in  the  way  recommended  by 
me,  the  rest  will  not  care  to  be  pressing  for  rents.  The 
butchers  who  govern  us  instituted  the  system  of  hang- 
ing for  this  very  reason  :  arguing,  that  one  example 
before  Kilmainham  deterred  numbers  of  waverers  ;  and 


236  MISCELLANIES. 


we  may  be  sure  that  the  rifle,  rightly  employed,  will  act 
upon  an  aristocrat  just  as  well  as  upon  a  housebreaker ; 
for,  are  not  men  men,  whether  clad  in  Saxon  ermine,  or 
in  the  rude  frieze-coats  of  our  miserable  fatherland  ? 
Oat  with  your  rifles,  boys,  in  the  name  of  humanity. 

They  saw  that  the  property  of  Ireland  is  mortgaged 
in  a  great  degree,  and  for  the  most  part  to  the  brutal 
Saxon  shopkeepers  and  pedlars.  You  will  have  the  ad- 
'  vantage  of  getting  your  land  entirely  free  ;  there  will  be 
no  manacle  of  debt  to  weigh  down  the  free  arms 
which  are  henceforth  to  till  the  beloved  soil  of  our 
country. 

And,  the  land  being  unencumbered,  you  will  have 
the  farther  advantage  of  being  able  to  invite  capitalists 
to  aid  you  with  money  to  conduct  the  operations  of 
agriculture.  Glorious  America,  which  sympathises  with 
you  sincerely,  will  be  much  more  ready  to  lend  its 
capital  upon  unencumbered,  than  on  cumbered  property. 
And  we  shall  negotiate  loans  in  her  magnificent  com- 
mercial cities,  where  I  have  no  doubt  there  will  be  a 
noble  emulation  to  come  to  the  aid  of  a  free  Irish  na- 
tion. 

The  idea  of  sending  cattle  and  pigs  to  England,  to 
feed  Saxon  ruffians,  is  then  to  be  scouted  henceforth  by 
all  honest  Irishmen.  We  will  consume  our  own  beef 
and  pork  by  our  own  firesides.  There  is  enough  live- 
stock in  this  island  to  give  every  regenerate  Irishman 
good  meals  of  meat  for  the  next  year  ensuing  ;  and  our 


IRISH    GEMS.  237 


lands,  notoriously  the  greenest  and  most  fertile  in  the 
world,  will  have  fed  up  a  similar  quantity  by  the  year 
185&  Thus,  we  shall  never  want  henceforth;  and, 
while  we  fatten  and  nourish,  we  shall  see  the  Saxon 
enemy  decay. 

And  as  the  beef-fed  scoundrels  cannot  live  upon  cotton 
and  hardware,  we  shall  have  the  satisfaction  of  reducing 
the  prices  of  those  commodities,  and  getting  them  at  a 
much  more  reasonable  rate  than  that  at  which  the  ac- 
cursed money-mongers  now  vend  them. 


FROM  THE  "  UNITED  IRISHWOMAN." 


THE    DUTIES    OF    OUR    WOMEN. 

In  the  coming  time  the  weapon  nearest  at  hand  is  al- 
ways the  cheapest.  Only  dilettanti  go  about  picking 
and  choosing.  Shillyshallyers  are  cowards.  Brave  men 
are  always  armed. 

Brave  men  and  brave  women,  a  few  suggestions  to 
housekeepers  we  have  already  given :  we  could  supply 
thousands  more. 

There  is  no  better  weapon,  for  instance,  than  one 
which  is  to  be  found  in  every  house  in  the  refined  quar- 
ter of  the  metropolis.  A  grand  piano  sent  down  upon 
a  troop  of  huzzars  will  play  such  a  sonata  over  their 
heads  as  the  scoundrels  never  marched  off  to.     A  chim- 


238  MISCELLANIES. 


ney-glass  is  a  rare  thing  for  smashing.  I  should  not 
like  to  be  the  Saxon  assassin  upon  whom  some  white- 
armed  girl  of  Erin  flung  it. 

Pokers  and  tongs  everybody  will  know  the  use  of.  A 
cut-steel  fender  is  an  awkward  thing  for  a  dragoon  to 
ride  over.  A  guardsman  won't  look  well  with  a  copper 
coal-scuttle  for  a  helmet. 

Ladies'  linen  will  make  the  best  of  lint.  A  laced 
handkerchief  tied  round  a  wounded  warrior's  brow  will 
be  well  bestowed.  I  have  seen  a  servant  in  college 
knocked  down  by  a  glossy  boot,  ever  so  slight,  of  var- 
nished leather  :  if  a  footman,  why  not  a  private  soldier  ? 
Have  at  him,  ladies,  from  the  bedroom  windows.  Your 
husbands  will  be  away  yonder  at  the  barricades. 

A  hot  saddle  of  mutton,  flung  by  cook  into  the  face 
of  a  bawling  Saxon  Colonel,  will  silence  him  ;  send  the 
dish-cover  with  it ;  or  at  tea-time  try  him  with  the  silver 
tea-urn.  Our  wife  has  one.  She  longs  for  an  oppor- 
tunity to  fling  it,  heater  and  all,  into  a  Saxon  face. 

Besides  the  bottle-rack,  the  use  of  which  and  its  con- 
tents is  evident,  your  husband  will  leave  the  keys  of 
the  cellar  with  you,  and  you  know  what  to  do.  Old 
port  makes  excellent  grape-shot ;  and  I  don't  know  any 
better  use  which  you  can  make  of  a  magnum  of  La- 
touche  than  to  floor  an  Englishman  with  it.  Have  at 
them  with  all  the  glasses  in  your  house,  the  china,  the 
decanters,  the  lamps,  and  the  cut-glass  chandelier. 

A  good  large  cheese  would  be  found  rather  indiges- 


IRISH    GEMS.  239 


tible  by  a  Saxon,  if  dropped  on  his  nose  from  a  second 
story.  And  the  children's  washing-tub  artfully  admi- 
nistered may  do  execution.  Recollect  it  is  a  tub  to 
catch  a  whale. 

There  is  a  lady  in  Leeson  Street  who  vows  to  fling 
her  Angola  cat  and  her  pet  spaniel  at  the  military  while 
engaged  there.  The  cat  may  escape,  (and  it  is  not  the 
first  time  the  Saxon  ruffians  have  tasted  its  claws.)  The 
Blenheim  cost  her  twenty-five  guineas.  She  will  give 
that  or  anything  for  her  country. 

The  water-pipes  will  be  excellent  things  to  tear  up 
and  launch  at  the  enemy.  They  may  make  a  slop  in 
the  house  at  first,  but  the  mains  and  the  gas  will  be  let 
off.  The  ruffians  shall  fight  us  if  they  dare,  in  darkness 
and  drought. 

You  will  of  course  empty  the  china-closets  on  the 
rascals,  and  all  the  bed-room  foot-baths  and  washing- 
basins.  Have  them  readv,  and  the  chests  of  drawers 
balancing  on  the  window-sills.  Send  those  after  them 
too. 

And  if  any  coward  Saxon  bullet  pierces  the  fair  bosom 
of  a  maid  or  a  wife  of  Erin,  may  the  curses  of  Heaven 
light  on  the  butcherly  dastard  !  May  the  pikes  of  Erin 
quiver  in  his  writhing  heart,  the  bullets  of  Erin  whirl 
through  his  screaming  eyeballs !  May  his  orphans 
perish  howling,  and  his  true  love  laugh  over  his  grave ! 
May  his  sister's  fair  fame  be  blighted,  and  his  grand- 
mother held  up  to  scorn !     May  remorse  fang  him  like 


240  MISCELLANIES. 


a  ban-dog,  and  cowardice  whip  him  like  a  slave  !  May 
life  weary  him !  death  dishonour,  and  futurity  punish 
him  !  Liar  Saxon  !  ruffian  Saxon  !  coward  Saxon  ! 
bloody  Saxon  !  The  gentle  and  the  pure  defy  ye,  and 
spit  on  ye ! 


THE    CHARLES    THE    SECOND    BALL.  241 


THE  CHARLES  THE  SECOND  BALL. 


Since  the  announcement  of  the  Costume  Ball  a  good 
deal  of  excitement  has  been  prevalent  about  the  court 
regarding  it.  It  is  known  that  Charles  the  Second 
used  to  feed  ducks  in  St.  James's  Park,  and  it  is  thought 
that  this  amusement  of  the  Merry  Monarch  is  harmless, 
and  may  be  repeated  on  the  present  festive  occasion. 
Rewards  have  been  offered  at  the  Lord  Chamberlain's 
Office,  for  a  means  of  keeping  the  ducks  awake  till 
twelve  o'clock  at  night. 

We  hear  that  some  Duchesses  decline  altogether  to 
assume  the  characters  of  their  namesakes  in  the  time 
of  Charles  the  Second  ;  and  that  the  Dukes,  their 
husbands,  perfectly  agree  in  this  spirited  decision. 

For  the  same  reason  as  their  Graces,  the  parts  of 
Maids  of  Honour  are  not  in  much  request.  But  for 
the  character  of  Catherine  Hyde,  who  married  the 
heir  to  the  throne,  there  are  numberless  proposals 
among  the  young  ladies  of  the  polite  world. 

For  the  character  of  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  (of 
Charles  the  Second's  time),  who  kicked  down  a  grand 

11 


242  MISCELLANIES. 


fortune  without  being  able  to  account  for  it,  we  hear  a 
great  number  of  noblemen  named  ;  among  others,  Lord 
Addlestone,  Lord  Muddehead,  and  the  Lord  Viscount 
Wildgoose. 

The  young  gentlemen  about  Downing  Street  are 
reading  the  Biographie  Universelle,  and  acquiring  a  sur- 
prising fund  of  historical  knowledge.  Young  Tapely, 
old  Tapely's  son,  who  is  eighteen,  and  has  just  entered 
the  Foreign  Office,  proposes  to  appear  as  Colbert  : 
whom  Guttleton  admires,  not  as  a  minister,  but  as  in- 
ventor of  Colbert-soles.  .  Vander  Souchey,  of  the 
Dutch  Legation,  announced  at  the  Club  that  he  would 
go  as  the  Pensionary  de  Witt.  "  Behold  de  miracle 
instead  of  de  witt,"  said  Flicflac  ;  and  added,  that 
Count  Narcissi  (the  envoy  from  Pumpernickel)  had 
best  assume  this  character,  because  the  women  are 
always  tearing  him  to  pieces. 

General  the  Earl  of  Slowgo  (who  does  his  best 
to  be  an  F.  M.)  has  just  been  credibly  informed  that  a 
work  exists — a  remarkable  work — although  a  light 
work,  lie  may  almost  say  a  biographical  work — relative 
to  the  times  of  Charles  the  Second,  called  Pepys' 
Diary,  and  purporting  to  be  edited  by  a  member  of 
their  Lordships'  House,  the  Lord  Viscount  Bray- 
brook. 

General  Slowgo  has,  therefore,  presented  his  com- 
pliments to  Lord  Viscount  Braybrook,  and  requests 
to  know  if  the  Viscount  has  edited  the  work  in  ques- 


THE  CHARLES  THE  SECOND  BALL.        243 

tion  ?  Should  his  lordship's  reply  be  in  the  affirmative, 
General  Lord  Slowgo  will  write  to  the  Librarian  of 
the  British  Museum,  to  know:  1st.  Whether  the  work, 
entitled  Pepys'  Memoirs^  be  in  the  Library  of  the 
British  Museum  ?  2nd.  Whether  that  work  contains  an 
authentic  account  of  the  reign  of  his  late  Majesty, 
Kino-  Charles  the  Second  ?  3rd.  Whether  the 
Librarian  of  the  British  Museum  can  bring  the  volume, 
if  a  rare  one,  to  Slowgo  House  ?  and,  4th,  If  not,  whe- 
ther, and  at  what  time,  General  the  Earl  of  Slowgo 
can  consult  the  work  in  question  at  the  British 
Museum  ? 

The  two  little  Miss  Budds  (who  go  about  with  Lady 
Crabb)  have  had  another  contemporary  work  lent  to 
them  by  their  cousin  Rowley,  and  are  busy  reading 
Grammont's  Memoirs.  When  Lady  Crabb  heard  that 
her  wards  were  reading  history,  she  was  highly  pleased, 
and  observed  that  she  has  no  doubt  the  volume  is 
instructive,  as  the  family  of  Grammont  is  one  of  the 
highest  in  France.  The  Miss  Budds  say  the  book  is — 
very  instructive. 

Miss  Grigg,  who  is  exceedingly  curious  in  books  and 
antiquarianism,  has  come  upon  some  surprising  illus- 
trative passages  in  her  Papa's  library,  in  the  works  of 
Wycherley  and  Sir  C.  Sedley,  and  in  Suckling's 
poems. 

Colonel  Sir  Nigel  M'Asser,  who  has  the  largest 
and  blackest  whiskers  not  only  in  the  Horse  Guard* 


244  MISCELLANIES. 


Green,  but  (with  the  exception  of  one  sapper,  now  at 
the  Cape  of  Good  Hope)  in  the  British  army,  when  he 
heard  that  whiskers  were  not  worn  in  the  time  of 
Charles  the  Second,  and  that  gentlemen  would  be 
expected  to  shave,  instantly  applied  for  leave  of  absence ; 
and,  if  that  is  refused,  he  will  send  in  his  papers. 

Lady  Rosa  Twentystone  and  her  daughters  have 
been  to  Hampton  Court,  and  taken  careful  note  of  the 
Lelys  there.  But  when  they  came  down  to  dinner  in 
the  dresses  which  they  had  prepared,  and  rehearsed  the 
part  before  Mr.  Twentystone,  he  ordered  the  whole 
family  up  to  their  rooms,  and  the  dinner  to  be  covered, 
until  they  were. 

"  Lady  Rosa  is  so  delightful,"  Varges  says,  that  he 
thinks  "  one  can't  see  too  much  of  her" 

Lord  Viscount  Methuselah  has  put  himself  into 
the  hands  of  new  artists,  and  will  appear  with  the 
cheeks,  hair,  and  teeth  of  twenty.  He  has  selected  the 
character  of  Lord  Rochester,  and  has  sent  a  request 
to  the  Lord  Chamberlain  that  he  may  be  allowed  to 
make  his  entree  into  the  ball  through  a  window  and  up 
a  rope-ladder. 

Lord  Hulkington  hopes  to  be  able  to  get  into  a 
page's  dress,  which  he  wore  once  in  private  theatricals, 
at  the  Princess  of  Wales's  Court  at  Naples  in  1814 ; 
and  the  ladies  of  his  family  are  busy  (for  his  lordship, 
since  he  came  into  his  fortune,  is  become  very  economi- 
cal) in  trying  to  enlarge  it. 


THE    CHARLES    THE    SECOND    BALL.  245 

Lady  Howlbury  expects  to  make  a  great  sensation, 
and  not  at  a  large  expense ;  having  attired  herself  and 
daughters,  each  in  a  curtain  of  the  state  bed  at  Ivybush, 
under  which  Charles  the  Second  passed  three  days 
after  the  battle  of  Worcester. 

If  the  Lord  Mayor  is  invited  with  his  suite,  the  City 
Marshal,  of  course,  will  go  as  Marshal  Tureen. 

Lord  Tom  Noddington  was  much  surprised  when 
he  heard  that  Charles  the  Second  had  been  up  a 
tree  ;  and  always  thought  that  he  ran  for  the  Oaks. 
His  opinion  was  that  Charles  the  Second  had  had  his 
head  cut  off,  just  before  his  son,  James  the  First,  came 
into  this  country,  from  Scotland, — where  Lord  Tom 
goes  shooting  every  year.  Mr.  Bland  Yarges,  who  is 
the  most  notorious  wag  at  Spratt's,  said,  that  as  Tom 
Noddington  had  no  head  himself,  he  had  better  go  as 
the  Marquis  of  Montrose — after  his  decapitation. 
Tom  Noddington  said  he  would  be  hanged  if  he  went 
as  Montrose,  which  Varges  said  was  more  and  more 
in  character.  Lord  Tom  said  he  didn't  know.  He 
knew  that  he  had  shot  the  Duke's  country,  and  hoped 
to  shoot  there  again  ;  and  he  thought  "  it  was  devilish 
dangerous,  begad,  in  those  confounded  levelling  times, 
by  Jove,  for  fellas  to  go  about,  saying  that  other  fellas 
had  their  heads  cut  off;  and  that  sort  of  thing,  begad, 
might  put  bad  ideas  into  other  fellas'  heads,  and  radical 
fellas,  and  dam  republican  fellas."  Mr.  Varges  said 
that  Lord  Tom  needn't  be  afraid  about  his  head,  and 


246  MISCELLANIES. 


that  if  he  lost  it  he  wouldn't  miss  it ;  on  which  Tom 
Noddy  said  that  Varges  was  always  chaffing  him. 

Lord  Addlestone — when  his  librarian  informed  him 
he  had  heard  that  Louis  the  Fourteenth  as  a  young 
man  wore  a  periwig  powdered  with  gold-dust — has  hit 
upon  a  brilliant  thought  of  his  own,  and  ordered  that 
his  wig  shall  not  only  be  powdered  with  gold,  but  that 
he  will  have  a  papillote  of  bank-notes. 

If  these  are  scarce,  as  his  steward  informs  him,  his 
Lordship's  man  is  directed  to  use  promissory  notes 
bearing  his  Lordship's  valuable  signature. 

The  young  officers  of  the  Eclectic  Regiments,  horse 
and  foot,  Cornets  and  Lieutenant-Captains  with  ten 
shillings  per  diem  of  pay,  are  greatly  gratified  at  the 
idea  of  having  to  pay  £40  a  piece  for  their  wigs  at  the 
Ball. 

It  is  said  that  a  venerable  Prelate  of  a  Western  Dio- 
cese is  going  to  represent  all  the  seven  recusant  Bishops 
of  James's  time  at  once ;  and  Cardinal  de  Retz,  who 
had  a  genius  for  conspiracies,  fights,  rows,  and  hot 
water  in  general,  has  a  representative  in  Golden  Square, 
with  a  hat  and  costume  ready  bought  and  paid  for. 

Ensign  and  Lieutenant  Tipton,  of  the  Coolstreams, 
says  that  he  intends  to  take  Marlborough's  part  as  a 
young  man,  for  he  is  very  good-looking,  is  as  poor  as  a 
rat,  and  ready  to  borrow  money  of  any  woman  who 
will  lend  it. 


THE    GEORGES. 


247 


THE   GEORGES. 

As  the  statues  of  these  beloved  Monarchs  are  to  be  put 
up  in  the  Parliament  palace — we  have  been  favoured 
by  a  young  lady  (connected  with  the  Court)  with  copies 
of  the  inscriptions  which  are  to  be  engraven  under  the 
images  of  those  Stars  of  Brunswick. 

GEORGE  THE  FIRST STAR  OF  BRUNSWICK. 

He  preferred  Hanover  to  England, 
He  preferred  two  hideous  Mistresses 
To  a  beautiful  and  innocent  Wife. 
He  hated  Arts  and  despised  Literature  ; 
But  He  liked  train-oil  in  his  salads, 
And  gave  an  enlightened  patronage  to  bad  oysters. 
And  he  had  Walpole  as  a  Minister  : 
Consistent  in  his  Preference  for  every  kind  of  Corruption. 

GEORGE    II. 

In  most  things  I  did  as  my  father  had  done, 
I  was  false  to  my  wife  and  I  hated  my  son  : 

My  spending  was  small  and  my  avarice  much, 

My  kingdom  was  English,  my  heart  was  High  Dutch : 


248  MISCELLANIES. 


At  Dettin2;en  fio-lit  I  was  known  not  to  blench, 
I  butchered  the  Scotch,  and  I  bearded  the  French 

I  neither  had  morals,  nor  manners,  nor  wit ; 
I  wasn't  much  missed  when  I  died  in  a  fit. 

Here  set  up  my  statue,  and  make  it  complete — 
With  Pitt  on  his  knees  at  my  dirty  old  feet. 

GEORGE    III. 

Give  me  a  royal  niche — it  is  my  due, 
The  virtuousest  King  the  realm  e'er  knew. 

I,  through  a  decent  reputable  life, 

Was  constant  to  plain  food  and  a  plain  wife. 

Ireland  I  risked,  and  lost  America ; 
But  dined  on  legs  of  mutton  every  day. 

My  brain,  perhaps,  might  be  a  feeble  part ; 
But  yet  I  think  I  had  an  English  heart. 

When  all  the  Kings  were  prostrate,  I  alone 
Stood  face  to  face  against  Napoleon  ; 

Nor  ever  could  the  ruthless  Frenchman  forge 
A  fetter  for  Old  England  and  Old  George  : 

I  let  loose  flaming  Nelson  on  his  fleets ; 
I  met  his  troops  with  Wellesley's  bayonets, 


THE    GEORGES.  249 


Triumphant  waved  my  flag  on  land  and  sea : 
Where  was  the  King  in  Europe  like  to  me  ? 

Monarchs  exiled  found  shelter  on  my  shores  ; 
My  bounty  rescued  Kings  and  Emperors. 

But  what  boots  victory  by  land  or  sea  ? 

What  boots  that  Kings  found  refuge  at  my  knee  ? 

I  was  a  conqueror,  but  yet  not  proud  ; 

And  careless,  even  though  Napoleon  bow'd. 

The  rescued  Kings  came  kiss  my  garments"  hem  : 
The  rescued  Kings  I  never  heeded  them. 

My  guns  roar'd  triumph,  but  I  never  heard  : 
All  England  thrilled  with  joy,  I  never  stirred. 

What  care  had  I  of  pomp,  or  fame,  or  power, — 
A  crazy  old  blind  man  in  Windsor  Tower  ? 

georgius  ultimus. 

He  left  an  example  for  age  and  for  youth 

To  avoid. 
He  never  acted  well  by  Man  or  Woman, 
And  was  as  false  to  his  Mistress  as  to  his  Wife. 

He  deserted  his  Friends  and  hi3  Principles. 
He  was  so  Ignorant  that  he  could  scarcely  Spell ; 
But  he  had  some  Skill  in  Cutting  out  Coats, 
And  an  undeniable  Taste  fbr  Cookery. 

11* 


250  MISCELLANIES. 


He  built  the  Palaces  of  Brighton  and  of  Buckingham, 
And  for  these  qualities  and  Proofs  of  Genius, 
An  admiring  Aristocracy 
Christened  him  the  "  First  Gentleman  in  Europe." 
Friends,  respect  the  King  whose  Statue  is  here, 
And  the  generous  Aristocracy  who  admired  him. 


DEATH  OF  THE  EARL  OF  ROBINSON.      251 


DEATH  OF  THE  EARL  OF  ROBINSON. 

(In  the  manner  of  a  popular  Necrographer.) 


It  is  our  duty  to  record  this  morning  the  demise  of  a 
nobleman  who  has  for  some  time  held  a  not  insignifi- 
cant position  in  English  politics  and  society.  Augustus 
Gustavus  Adolphus  Smith,  Earl,  Viscount,  and 
Baron  Robinson,  expired  a  quarter-of-an-hour  ago  at 
his  house  in  Belgrave  Square,  where  indisposition  had 
of  late  detained  his  lordship.  His  son,  the  Viscount 
Smith,  at  present  third  Earl  of  Robinson,  was  im- 
mediately sent  for  from  Paris,  where  his  lordship  is 
staying.  The  death  of  .the  second  Earl  will  no  doubt 
be  a  shock  to  the  present  nobleman ;  but  as  his  Lord- 
ship inherits  Castle  Robinson  in  Yorkshire,  Robinson- 
burgh,  Mayo,  the  rich  paternal  estates  in  Norfolk  and 
Suffolk,  and  the  funded  property,  which  is  very  con- 
siderable, his  grief  will  probably  be  of  trifling  dura- 
tion. 

The  family  of  the  Robinsons  is  rather  numerous 
than  distinguished ;  nor  can  the  biographer  of  the  race 
discover  that  they  were  remarkable  for  talents  or  wit^ 


252  MISCELLANIES. 


or  for  public  or  private  virtue.  The  founder  of  the 
House  was  known  for  many  years  by  our  ancestors  as 
Cock  Robinson,  and  his  juvenile  escapades  with  Smith, 
and  Brown,  and  Jones,  were  long  familiar  subjects  of 
public  talk.  Cock  Robinson  was  a  creature  of  Wal- 
pole's,  and  accused — not  without  justice,  probably, — of 
repeated  malversations  of  the  public  funds.  He  was 
Deputy  of  the  Pewter  Closet,  did  not  retire  into  private 
life  without  carrying  with  him  some  of  that  metal  over 
which  he  had  the  charge,  and  was  created  a  Baronet 
by  a  clever  but  certainly  not  squeamish  minister.  This 
Sir  Haycock  Robinson  died  in  1*764,  and  was  succeed- 
ed by  his  son  Sir  George  Robinson. 

Sir  George  represented  Robinsontown  in  Parliament, 
and  increased  the  family  estate,  not  by  any  genius  or 
talent  of  his  own,  but  by  an  economy  which  was  push- 
ed perhaps  beyond  the  bounds  of  manliness ;  and,  above 
all,  by  marrying  the  immensely  rich  daughter  of 
Wooley  Brown,  Esq.,  of  Tobago.  The  absurdities  of 
the  lady  and  the  niggardliness  of  her  husband,  formed 
matter  of  fun  for  the  wags  of  the  day ;  and  cheese-paring 
Robinson  and  the  whitey-brown  heiress  have  had  the 
honour  of  some  satirical  verses  from  the  pen  of  Topham 
Beauclerc.  George  III.  is  said  to  have  been  shocked 
when  the  Baroness  Robinson  was  presented  to  Queen 
Charlotte  at  Court;  and  cried  out  "Black,  black; 
didn't  know  she  was  a  black  woman."  However,  Rob- 
inson was  a  baron.     The  votes  which  he  commanded. 


DEATH  OF  THE  EARL  OF  ROBINSON.      253 

and  which  were  at  the  service  of  Lord  North,  Lord 
Rockingham,  the  Lord  Keeper  Cecil,  and  indeed  of 
every  Ministry — and  the  lucky  demise  of  the  black 
heiress,  raised  Baron  Robinson  to  an  Earldom ;  at 
which  period,  though  stricken  in  years,  he  consoled 
himself  by  marrying  a  very  young  lady — Arabella, 
daughter  of  Hicks  fifteenth  Earl  of  Blenkinsop,  who 
subsequently  ran  away  from  his  Lordship. 

The  subject  of  the  present  memoir,  Augustus  Gusta- 
vus  Adolphus  (then  the  Hon.  A.  G.  A.  Robinson),  in 
the  year  1799  entered  the  House  of  Commons,  when 
Quiberoon  capitulated,  Lord  Nelson  engaged  the 
Spanish  Armada,  Mr.  Huskisson  brought  in  his  Turn- 
pike Act,  Mr.  Tierney  made  his  celebrated  speech 
against  the  Pig-tail  Tax,  and  the  one-pound  note 
question  was  raging.  On  neither  of  these  questions 
did  the  new  Peer  think  fit  to  speak  from  his  place  in 
the  House  of  Lords ;  nor  indeed  did  he  open  his  lips 
there — a  proof  of  discretion  on  his  Lordship's  part,  for 
nature  had  endowed  him  with  but  a  feeble  brain,  and  he 
had  the  sense  to  be  aware  of  his  utter  mental  inefficiency. 
It  is  a  pity  that,  in  this  respect,  some  of  their  lordships 
would  not  take  pattern  from  the  Earl  of  Robinson — a 
pity,  too,  that  that  nobleman's  own  incapacity  was 
6uch  as  to  lead  them  justly  to  mistrust  him. 

The  young  nobleman  was  educated — if  that  may  be 
called  an  education  where  a  man  can  barely  write  his 
name  (and  Lord  Robinson  could  not  be  said  to  have 


254  MISCELLANIES. 


gone  much  further  in  the  practice  of  orthographical 
learning)— at  Eton,  and  subsequently  at  Christchurch. 
It  is  needless  to  say  that  he  took  an  honorary  degree. 
The  continent  was  as  yet  open  to  our  aristocratic  youth, 
when  the  young  man  achieved  the  distinction  just 
mentioned,  and  the  young  Peer  took  the  grand  tour 
of  Europe.  A  quarto  volume  was  published,  with  some 
observations  on  Hecla  and  Stromboli,  by  Viscount 
Smith  ;  but  it  was  known  that  the  work  was  written  by 
the  Reverend  Baring  Leader,  his  tutor,  and  after- 
wards Bishop  of  Bullocksmith — a  man  neither  con- 
spicuous for  preaching  nor  practice,  and  who  might  be 
called,  by  the  severe,  a  disgrace  to  the  Church. 

In  person,  Lord  Robinson  was  corpulent  rather  than 
athletic,  and  ungainly  without  being  strong.  He  was 
marked  with  the  small  pox  in  infancy,  and  by  that 
disease  deprived  of  an  eye.  His  lameness  was  the 
result  of  a  subsequent  accident.  His  Lordship  lisped, 
and  could  not  pronounce  the  letter  R.  Mr.  Canning's 
lines  about  "  Wobinthon"  will  probably  be  remembered 
by  our  readers.  They  are  to  be  found  in  that  clever 
but  overrated  Miscellany,  the  Antijacobin. 

He  was  sent  to  negotiate  the  Treaty  of  Straalsund, 
when  the  capitulation  of  Magdeburg  gave  some  hopes 
to  the  Allies  (though  it  may  be  supposed  that  a  person 
such  as  Lord  Robinson  was  merely  a  ceremony,  and 
that  the  work  was  really  done  by  subordinates),  but  the 
negotiations,   whatever   they  might  have  been,    were 


DEATH  OF  THE  EARL  OF  ROBINSON.      255 


interrupted  by  the  best  reason  in  the  world — Mack's 
victory.  The  battle  of  Pultawa,  Count  Tilly's  brilliant 
engagement  with  Miroladovich,  and  the  sudden  burst 
of  Napoleon  into  the  Ukraine  and  Swedish  Pomerania 
with  an  army  of  five  hundred  thousand  French,  Poles, 
and  Italians  of  the  Old  Guard,  abruptly  ended  the  con 
ference,  and  sent  the  diplomatists  to  the  right-about. 
Lord  Robinson  narrowly  escaped  capture  in  the  frigate 
the  Arethusa,  which  brought  him  from  his  mission. 
She  was  chased  and  engaged  by  the  French  ship  the 
Belle  Poule,  in  the  Bay  of  Bengal,  and  the  particulars 
of  the  action  are  narrated  in  James.  His  Lordship  was 
not  complimented  for  his  courage  in  the  affair — but  he 
was  a  civilian,  and  suffered  greatly  from  sea-sickness. 

In  1811  his  Lordship  married  Blanchefleun,  the 
beautiful  daughter  of  Harquebuss,  Duke  of  Fitz- 
battleaxe.  Gillray's  caricatures  of  the  pair  are  stiU 
to  be  seen  in  the  portfolios  of  collectors.  Suffice  it  to 
say,  their  union  was  not  a  happy  one. 

The  pleasures  of  the  table  appear  of  late  years  to 
have  been  Lord  Robinson's  only  passion.  His  dinners 
were  the  most  splendid  given  in  this  city,  and  were 
frequented  by  those  who  contributed  their  wit  in  return 
for  his  entrees.  His  Lordship's  mind  did  not  enable 
him  to  appreciate  the  former,  and  it  is  owing  to  a  too 
great  indulgence  in  the  latter  that  he  has  been  called 
away  from  a  world  which  will  not  veiy  much  miss 
him. 


256  MISCELLANIES. 


With  all  his  splendour  Lord  Robinson  was  said  tc 
be  stingy,  and,  though  dull,  he  was  not  good-natured, 
as  are  some  stupid  people.  His  deafness  of  late  years 
still  farther  excluded  him  from  the  enjoyment  of  society. 
But  beyond  these  points  little  can  be  said  in  his  dis- 
praise. So  long  as  his  tenants  paid  their  rents,  he  did 
not  annoy  them.  He  cannot  be  said  to  have  cheated 
his  tradesmen, — to  have  picked  a  pocket  or  to  have 
robbed  a  church ;  nor,  on  the  other  hand,  can  it  be 
stated  of  him  that  he  invented  gunpowder  or  set  the 
Thames  on  fire. 


THE    END, 


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AN    INVASION    OF    FRANCE. 

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CARICATURES    AND    LITHOGRAPHY    IN    PARIS. 
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«h«<?.—  London  Literary  Gazette.. 


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(Contents. 

miss  shim's  husband. 

the  amours  of  mr.  deuceace. 

skimmings  from  u  the  dairy  of  george  iv." 

foring  parts. 

mr.  deuceace  at  paris. 

MR.    YELLOWPLUSn's    AJEW. 
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mentionables of  Mr.  Yellowplush,  he  is  fifty  times  more  of  a  gentleman 
than  most  of  his  masters." 


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THE  MAIDEN  AND  MARRIED  LIFE  OF 
MARY  POWELL, 

AFTERWARDS    MISTRESS    MILTON. 

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tion is  told  in  Dr.  Johnson's  biography  of  the  poet.  The  narrative  is  in  the 
stvle  of  the  period  as  the  Diary  of  Lady  Willoughby  is  written,  and  is  re- 
markable for  its  feminine  grace  and  character — and  the  interest  of  real  life 
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its  touches  of  nature  and  seniment  no  less  than  as  a  study  of  one  of  Eng- 
land's greatest  poets  "  at  homo." 

ENGLISH   NOTICES. 

"This  is  a  charming  book  ;  and  whether  we  regard  its  subject,  clever- 
ness or  delicacy  of  sentiment  and  expression,  it  is  likely  to  be  a  most  ac- 
ceptable present  to  young  or  old,  be  their  peculiar  taste  for  religion,  morals, 
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•  fid  novel  class  to  which  it  belongs,  a  mixture  of  truth  and  fiction  in  a  fonn 
vhich  belongs  to  the  fictitious  more  than  to  the  subs; antial  contents. "— 
A  mi  conformist, 

"The  odd  history  of  Milton's  first  marriage — the  desertion  of  his  wife, 
and  her  subsequent  terror  when  she  heard  that  he  was  just  the  man  to  put 
In  practice  his  own  opinions  respecting  divorce — forms  one  of  those  chap- 
ters, peculiarly  open  to  illustration  and  fency." — AiUtK 


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DT     HORACE     SMITH,    ONE     OF     THE     AUTHORS     (,?     r08 
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ADDRESS   TO    THE    MUMMY    AT    BELZONl's   EXHIBITION 

WINTER. 

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MY  TEA-KETTLE. 

TilE    WIDOW    OF   THE    GREAT    ARMY 

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MISS      HEBE      HIGGINS'S     ACCOUNT     OF     A     LITERARY     SOCIETY TH1 

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RECOLLECTIONS   OF  A  JOURNEY  TflROUtUI 
TARTARY,  THIBET,  AND  CHINA,  DURING 

THE  YEARS   1844,   1845,   and   184  6. 

BIT    M.    HIT,   MISSIONARY    PRIEST   OF  TUP   CONr.REOAIT   >S 

OF    ST.    LAZARUS. 

A    CONDBNSKD   TRANSLATION    BY    MRS     PERCY   SrNNETX. 

Two  Volumes,  \i5/no.,  Fauci/  Cloth.     Price  Fifty  Cents  each. 

Tin's  narrative,  related  with  srreat  interest  and  simplicity— adding  toou> 
original  stores  of  information  with  the  piquancy  of  an  Arabian  Tale— is  tin 
story  of  a  longjournet  and  circuit  of  Chinese  Tartary  to  the  capital  ofThi- 
het,  with  a  forced  return  to  the  Chinese  TeiTitory.  performed  by  a  Roman 
Catholic  Missionary,  and  his  assistant  M.  Gabet.  delegated,  upon  the  break 
itiit  up  of  tin-  Pekin  Mission,  to  the  exploration  of  what  is  rather  hypotheti 
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with  religious  rites  and  manners  and  custo  ns,  now  for  the  first  time  so  fully 
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our  love  of  intelligence,  but  to  our  love  of  the  marvellous. 

The  English  Review  speaks  of  "  M.  line's  graphic  pages"  and  remarks, 
'the  labours  of  Messr;    Hue  and  Gabet  have  extended   very  considerably 
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ite  of  continued  hardships,  and  of  frequent  suffering  and  danger  in  remote 
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fcn  g«nd  our  readers  to  the  hook  ;t.seJf 


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